AMY ENGLAND
IN A SUBURB OF TOKYO
I
Rustling over the river
could be bats. Too dark to say.
And for stars, only
the green and gold cat stares
sometimes appear, a sort of stars,
then slip off, and their shadows
brush messages on blank walls,
the maze of streets.
II
Can’t see, say what I see,
not even child’s alphabet inventory of
cat fish star
Hearing from the bridge
splashes in the cement bed
of the River of Many Geese
where invisible bright orange and white and orange
carp sleep with open eyes
