the wood flute haunts the room, drawing in the breeze

          banjos vibrate in the fan-dizzied silence

          the scent of chocolate orange lingers around a flame as chamomile dissipates into steam

ghosts arise from the insence smoke and tell of the samurai as the sitar picks up

          a cracked window tells of itching crickets i'm not hearing

and the cicada's foreign lullaby.

          this fan is only stirring air

and i'm only dreaming of japan--cut short by brake lights and stop signs.

07/25/2005

Author's Note: alaina did most of the work :-D

Posted on 07/25/2005
Copyright © 2024 Uriel Tovar