Like Coldness

An afternoon without sun,
like coldness
warming your skin
in an open pier,

and your smile-
sweet as sweet,
a tease of your lips,
a constant reminder

with each memory.



(after watching Isao Takahata's Grave of Fireflies for the 10th time)

as bombs hum their lullaby-

you are there, in the dark,


sucking on marbles like

sakuma drops,

your eyes sunken not with

hunger but with longing.

above a hill, Seita catches

his breath wondering if you're safe,

as bombs hum their lullaby.