As forecast the wind is rising
litter resurrects its promised land
across a span from the center of the empire
beyond the sea the balts carouse
spices on a woman's body
she is no one's so everyone's eyes indulge
many aim out one span
from the center they think about day and night
even words have lost accuracy
judges are more concerned about poetry
poets about the anatomy of death
even the messenger forgets to sober up
in the capital for shame I forgot
which god had to accompany me
a passerby asks where are you from
and suddenly the wind rises
a scrap of newspaper leaps from the pavement
hits my face satori or the chain of devolution
what's the difference soho chinatown
everywhere I am one span away
from a woman's shoulder from
a black taxi speeding by on the right
a left-hander knows this all his life
and the wind changes direction
at every crossroad but always blows in my face
I barely open my mouth to ask the way
my tongue is buried in sand in dead
dunes in oases of mirages after forty
years having left the fringes of the empire
here before the mirror
in the hotel I cannot afford to finish
what I have started