like child and mom's skirt
the moon covers its shy face
peeking out it grins
or
to make moon vanish:
align sun, orbit, rotate
greater hides lesser
Profit not horded, for enrichment alone
but forces us alone, out on stage
to prophesy. He has handed us
our tongues.
Words embarking, o-wheels and t-rudders
spill together in a deepening nightfall
Wash of paleness over paper valley
cumulate in the blackness of the spine
deee-vine.
This is Kisho.