"Kai, Today."
We had a little boy whom we named Kai.
A teenage boy in training pants stretching by the river.
A girl child weeping, climbing up her elder sister.
The Kawaramachi Beggar's steady look and searching reach
of gritty hand in plastic sidewalk
pale with lip of grease.
These fates.
Before Masa and I met, what's your
from the beginning face, Kai?
Born again to the mother's horse bear
down grown and dark red mask, spiraling, glistening
blue white up and out from her.
Dolphins leaping in threes through blinding
silver interfaces.
Persian Gulf tankers wave slip opening boundless whap
and they fall back arching into her.
Sea.