Tag Archive | japanese poets
I will write no more of love.
I will write no more of love.
Is anyone ever satisfied?
A Japanese poet, maybe.
When her lover (a jade bead
slipping along a silk cord
which is a path
white with almond blossoms
or snow?)
hurries.
My garments do not tie closed.
The stairs to my room are
dirty and who ever mounts them?
I am the odalisque who lives in an obelisk. I converse with birds.
