After the Rain
A Great Tree
A rainy morning like a still image,
a world bleeding into deep green.
At its center,
stands a great tree.
Catching the cold raindrops,
it trembles slightly.
A single leaf
might be a country,
or perhaps a house.
What sways on the branch over there
might be you.
Once,
it was a single sprout.
But
now it is far away.
Insects come,
or they do not.
Birds whisper,
or they do not.
Light reaches it,
or it does not.
Pitter,
patter,
pitter-patter.
The sound of a helicopter
echoes peacefully in the midday sky.
From roots stretched thick,
it drinks up this morning's rain,
and veins of different shapes
turn translucent in their own colors.
Beyond the hole
in a withered leaf,
the sun sets,
and into the hollow of the tree,
it gathers the wind.
When the whispering breath of sleep
eventually overlaps into one,
the earth is wrapped
in a shadow deeper
than the descending night,
and only the countless stars
are awake in blue.
On a Rainy Day
Since when,
has it been raining?
The sound of the rain
piles up inside my body.
When I stare at my cold toes,
beyond the blue pedicure
is a quiet ripple.
Chasing the shimmering light,
before I knew it,
I was standing
in front of a tunnel.
Slowly,
I advance into the darkness.
The silence
clings to my ears.
A gentle outline,
faintly glowing,
floating,
sinking.
If I were to put
my soul into the water,
would it be like this?
Shrinking as if calling,
stretching when called.
I am drawn toward
those thread-like tentacles.
I cannot take my eyes off them,
out of a sense of insecurity,
as if I might
turn into water someday.
Even now, surely,
the rain is still beating
against the roof,
but the threads of the fish
swimming peacefully,
knowing nothing,
are not connected
to where I am.
Since there is no way to pull in
the threads that broke
midway through the water
on the other side
of the acrylic glass,
my gaze will likely
choose once again
to be drenched in the rain.
Evening Shower
Drenching the necks
of all people.
The neck with the protruding Adam's apple
of a voice-changing boy,
the ankles
supporting a body about to collapse,
even the milk-scented nipple
given to an infant.
The evening shower
drenches them without mercy.
Blaming us,
who are breathing
defenselessly.
As if pitying us,
who cannot even breathe
properly.
Even though we are all
drenched so equally,
the speed at which we dry is different,
so,
so alone.
People looking down in unison,
protecting what must be protected,
aiming for the place they must return to,
drifting away.
My gaze, wavering
with a moment's hesitation,
is struck by the rain
and can no longer move.
I just stare at the puddle
forming at my feet.
The sound of the rain is sucked
into the distorted water surface,
and from the blueness of the bottom rises
the vibration of festival music.
A small fate
that had been endlessly circling
inside a wide water tank.
Where did the goldfish go
that slipped through the light
and was not scooped up?
There was no difference at all.
Just that the thin Japanese paper
got too wet.
I thought I saw a goldfish
swimming as if to escape
from the beating raindrops,
but that was just a bright red obi sash.
Moving away
toward the light
shining through the clouds.
Before I knew it, the evening shower had stopped
and the surroundings felt like the aftermath of a festival
in their silence
Shining in the pale sunlight
under the wet roofs
I finally remember
that she is waiting
Sound of rain
The scent of twilight
grows stronger
seeping into the tip of my nose
As I exit the ticket gate
one step, two steps,
with a pace of resignation
I pass through the rain
When I hold out my palm
there is a faint resonance
When I look up
before it breaks
before it plays
a silent tremor
To the pond of verdigris
where the carp shimmer
touching
flowing
falling
a sound
is born
shining
shattering
blooming
drenching me
unable to say it
turning my back
I sank into the night
my voice, too
mingling with the voices
of tree stumps and small windows
the sound of rain
layered in many folds
without ceasing
fades into the distance
