after Kotaro Takamura
Not play, but we sweep the hours under
Our tatami mats. Together, to work,
But our scrolls remain unpainted,
Our books unread. We laugh, embrace,
Let these nights, implacable, wane;
Let these days whip by like lightning, rain.
Not play, but love abundant,
Sputtering like an August fuse, exuberant
As the bloom and wither of grasses
In the mountain’s ventricles,
As the intonation of sun
Across the clouds’ vast migration,
As the boundless thunder
Bending rainfall into the wind’s color.
Not play, but here at last, and ankle-deep
In life’s most wondrous sweep,
The promise of this transcendent kiss:
At last together, at long last bliss.