Freed from the fetters of a mossy dam,
Springtime current bleeds over rocks
To urge a temperate snow of cherry blossom petals
Into a forlorn pouch of black leather,
Adorned by a glossy pink polka-dot blanket.
Despite the current it stays, pivoting
From a black string
Like the half-foot fish
Anchored against ambitious waves
That challenge the woody nets of twigs
And their cylindrical aluminum prey: they are
Scribbled with white text and columns of
Ornate as the network of fallen branches
That swell the stream's surface with soft bumps.
Wind joins the orchestra
Of the pedestrians' whispering roar,
The accelerating motors from the street's hustle,
And the persistent hiss of the contiguous stream
That runs along the gutter of a philosopher's hilly trail-
That endures under the weight of sweet blossoms' stench
And the bitter cologne of brewed Asahi barley.
A camera's accidental flash leaves the midday light
A petal, pale and pink like a Geisha's painted face,
Settles on the moist polka-dot blanket that
Decorates the black leather of a desolate
Astray amid the fallen cherry blossom petals of mid-April.