i do not remember ravens

i do not remember ravens
perched or flying overhead,
cawing at my steps, each twice
as heavy as the one before.
shrillness weaving into song-like laughter:
haaa. haaa. haaa.
so unlike -

i do remember rain,
light and forgiving
but absent these days,
weeks away.
i am yearning for -

i remember some words,
reinvigorated on my tongue
like rediscovered treasure,
they taste like the season,
a middle-aged spring,
of melons, cherries, or -

of other words i remember slivers,
they resemble dismembered notes
at the tip of my tongue -
unrealized like a bell frozen
at the midst of pealing,
a wind left to fill a sigh left hanging.
they taste like ash,
fragile paper crumbling,
insistent as you,
to remain unremembered.


.:. Osaka, 18 years later, sequel to a quiet wave farewell



2019.jun.03