WEBVTT

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That finishes with
the island and returns

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to mainland Japan and
the following winter.

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This poem is called,
"The Bed in the Sky."

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Motorcycle strums
the empty streets,

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heading home at 1:00 AM.

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Ice slicks shine in the moon,
I weave a safe path through.

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Naked shivering
light flows down,

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fills the basin over Kyoto.

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And the plane, a
ghost glacier dream.

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From here, 100 miles are
clear, the cemetery behind.

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Namu, Amida, Butsu
chiseled 10,000 times.

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Tires crackled the mud
puddles, the northern hills

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gleamed white.

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I ought to stay outside alone
and watch the moon all night.

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But the bed is full,
and spread, and warm.

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I hug you and sink in the dark.

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My stomach against your big
belly feels our baby turn.

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