waking up and going to bed, the routine remains the same #senryu #hiraku

for a time writing a letter, hungry for something wonderful #senryu #hiraku

'american liberty' quite a sham, half-filled glass of wine #senryu #hiraku

internment life, silent and nameless souls we'll never know #senryu #hiraku

letter returned unopened—the sting of familial rejection #senryu #hiraku

two miles from the train station, this 4 pm cup of coffee #senryu #hiraku

purchasing a Japanese screen, the age of the wood floors #senryu #hiraku

talk of life in a barrak, my son's career as a soldier #senryu #hiraku

brewing tea, the old kettle tells me of things to come #senryu #hiraku

empty halls nothing means anything anymore #senryu #hiraku

morning coffee, rereading Jakuro then Kawakami's senryu #senryu #hiraku

bill-collector's laughter, purchasing another bottle of watered down beer #senryu #hiraku

dry prairie...the foreman's swearstained shirt another color #senryu #hiraku

having never visited a bathhouse—the book remains untouched #senryu #hiraku

this courtyard too—settling nicely into its September space #senryu #hiraku

swaying trees, "little boy move! i crave your father!" #senryu #hiraku

sleeping again: the clock's sound tells me I'm in good hands #senryu #hiraku

weight of a hot sun—fig syrup over hot toast after midnight #senryu #hiraku

fishmonger's wife...such an outdated term i think #senryu #hiraku

deep stillness—my son might have been twenty this month #senryu #hiraku