A week from this
Thursday something will
happen that no one could
have ever foreseen.
This is the beauty
and the horror, at once,
of our limited vision,
afraid to see the present
although it is all
that is clearly within
our visual field.
Instead we look back
into the shadows
where memory substitutes
for clarity and truth,
or forward
into the abyss.


None of us can remember
what was here before.
We can search for clues,
develop elaborate surmises
and find telling relics
from which we can conclude
this or that, with a certitude
the gods would surely mock.
But our field of vision
is restricted, our memories
equally so, and we are left
with one certainty, supposition.
And that will be true
at least until the moment
we realize that we too are
antediluvian and we hear the sound
of the approaching flood.




If a poor man offers you
the finest diamond
do you take it, and what
of the gift of a crust of bread
from the wealthy man.
Each gift, in its way,
is worthy of rejection.

Once I grasped at great thoughts –
now I can forget my own name
and wonder whose face it is
that I see in the mirror.

A reflection on Case 70 of The Iron Flute (Tetteki tōsui).