Elegy (for Fukubé Tatsu)
Mark
It’s not certain death at a certain time when
A reason that may be hope
Cheeks set close together and bread to eat
Have disappeared
Neither did the washed hair fall out
Nor the phone you hurriedly got reject you
A reason that may be hope was
By a quiet, quiet death…
Your vanishing was yesterday
Decided with a vacillating heart. You
Rejected true tears and false words of condolence and went away
Between true vanity and true despair
The setting sun gently disappeared
On your shivering costume
The wind made your soul
Sleep even lower than your height
Couldn’t you find
The promise that the times, rejecting sleep and sparing death by poison,
Left in the blank space on a small notebook?
For those who were exposed to the fires of war
And missed dying by the fires of war,
A gratuitous death was always an aspiration
Do you
Remember
How our last image was
Drawn in powder smoke and hell fire
Your
Desolate logic
Contained a bashful space. It now
Streams like a streak of midday dream into
Our
End for which we must fight
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