Wilko in Japan

No mountain dew on this bone-buckled face,

No world in a grain of rice.

No beating the bounds of a space beyond,

No cherry blossom lament.

No torrent rage of a warrior sea,

No lamplight coughing in gloom.

No half-life measured in atomic clicks,

No power surging skyward.

No missiles over the Sea of Japan,

No Tokyo hotel tremors.

No auteur panscapes of battle rained earth,

No color-drenched field of dreams.

No flame lit Golden Pavilion sky,

No bloody valediction.

No monument hewn from empires of stone,

No fading pavement piss map.

No bullet stream rush of indifferent air,

No ricochet gaze at rest.

Just a moment plucked by a heavied hand,

Just the strum of breath on glass.

May 2014