We picked shells by the sea

On a cliff path a michioshie flew,

Shouted for joy,

Chased after where the bug had gone

The driftwood burned a vivid blue

Above, murres, perhaps

Black lines crisscrossed in the air,

Overturned in layers of blinding light,

Flashing into meteors

A shadow holding a longboard

Lights an American Spirit

Through the tobacco smoke,

Saw a sea-eroded cave

A thing like a hand-stacked little tower

Was swallowed by a great rainbow nest,

Causing halation,

Carrying fire-shaped granite,

Rolling over,

Tangled in a sheet,

Autumn Galaxy

Still lost, yet returning here

The sound of the surf becoming our breath

Passing through the border of a rye field

Cats patrolled at night,

Washed by salty air    we

Walked the hill silence descended,

From the shores of good old poems

Even seeking

All across Japan, no longer found

We spoke of a lovely bug

Foretelling the future

Shirtless students

Played reggae on a cassette tape,

Making placards for demo

At a marijuana-scented stall

Gulped down Anchor Steam,

Ate a delicious taco

Met an odd man

A strange fellow wedging a roll of toilet paper

Between the keys of a beat-up typewriter,

Striking a novel

On paper too soft as a goddess’ underwear, 

The letters tore apart

Breath on Breath    A letter

A strange instrument recalling the voices of the dead