Hokkaido

It was summer in Hokkaido.

           The forest stole the wind

           and I swallowed my footsteps.

           Nobody came to the springs.

           Butt naked I sat halfway

           through my life measuring

           this, that.

In Hokkaido it was summer.

           Everything was halved or merged.

           Half-cut fingers, half-foxgloves,

           a marrowbone-cum-cabbage white.

           The daylight moon, split.

           I talked to nobody about

           this, that.

Hokkaido in summer it was.

           Ants were carrying a caterpillar

           home. No bird arguing.

           Nobody said missiles crossing

           so I stayed. The night trees

           stole the seas, canceling

           this, that.