In the small yard
of the matchbox house
the lone Ginkgo
twisted by time
feels the barrenness
of winter’s tongue
and mourns
its solitude.

The apartment building looms up
over the tracks of the Narita Express
the balconies are deserted, save
for the laundry which flaps
in the morning breeze,
slapping with the gusts
into the small satellite dishes
bolted to the railings.

The ancient trees are twisted
and gnarled, clinging
to the small band of soil.
They lean as if to hear
some whispered word,
held in place by the braces
fashioned carefully,
their trunks wrapped in bark
tied neatly with twine,
to soothe against the chafe
of the hand lashed
support beams.

First Published in Grayhound Journal, Issue 2, 2023
https://thegreyhoundjournal.com/read-tokyo/two-poems-from-louis-faber