Some old monk,
dead now a long time
but immortal in prose
caused me to pause
”
憂しと見し世ぞ
今は恋しき
”
You look the same.
The same, perhaps, as I had imagined
now that the sand on the beach has washed away
and been replaced by vaulted roofs, allergies, plum wine,
futons, a girl stifling the urge to skip, a carrot cake muffin.
You look the same in your wedding dress,
nonplussed or unsure how to smile-
fallen into an expression I don’t remember-
but which was probably there the whole time.
And as I sat
surrounded by warmth,
cats,
hope,
insomnia,
allegories in children’s language,
the inevitable decline of each individual,
the listless desire to feel needed,
Required even-
I was happy for our death
and for our birth
and for the truth that lives now
and which scoffs at myopy-
a truth living in a silent, warm memory,
draped in the blowing wind on the pier
where my first regret was timidity.
Congratulations. I hope you are well.
a collection of poems and thoughts 
You know, I have returned here ever so often–hoping (often in vain) that you’d write. I’ve thought, in fact, of gently encouraging it … but I feel like inspiration is best left uncoerced. Still, I hoped. And it’s a time of little hope but seeing these three new poems in here after years of checking and hoping it reminds me that perhaps hoping isn’t as useless as I often fear that it is. What a gift you have give me on your very own birthday. We don’t talk much anymore, but you are often in my thoughts and after all of these years, I still wish you well and think of you fondly.
Dum spiro, spero.
Thanks Sami. I’ve entered a busy chapter in my life, and i’ve forsaken most of my friends in my absent-mindedness. I feel like that happens more often than I would like, but by the time I realize that it’s happened at all, I’m deep in regret, and it becomes kind of a spiral. I still think about you often, as well, and I hope that you’re doing well.
One day I’ll write that e-mail back to you (2 years too late)