Returning to the same place,

hands across an ocean. Eyes across a sky

so wide galaxies hide there.

 

We are Samurai.

 

You linger on the edge of nowhere

hungry for something, I have no mouth

to feed you.

 

Returning to the same place

we miss each other, we pass

so close we can almost touch.

 

Forgetting for minutes:

the Gods laugh at us.

 

Here, kites fly in an unfeeling sky

and a starving people leave

flowers on my doorstep.

 

Frangipani, pale linen gilded

purple with the sweet smell

of love.

 

What use are Samurai in heaven?