A carefree day in many words,
Much speaking turns into hearing,
Much hearing to a short reply,
A short reply to lengthy trails:
Out through the misty hills,
Among stark streams and evergreens,
Besides the clamour of the birds,
By falling petals and young shoots,
To fig and empty court. My prayer -
That it would be a seed by grace.

A day that's trying to be slow,
In part it lags then finds a second wind,
Of change and pace and quickened rush,
Then like ice it fills a cup to brim,
Jumbled down and spinning into striking stillness,
Then tossed in floating swigs to find a refreshing pace.

Three cranes loom in the sky,
Backs crooked - scheming,
They peer like kaijus from the heart of rolling cityscape,
And aloft they stand,
Watching busy creatures walk austere in shadows low,

And standing under metal skies,
Held together by rigid bars and pillars true,
The busy creatures step in tune with blaring horns,
That roll out from their metal frames,
That glide along the iron lines.