tokugawa took every last grain of you.

on an empty stomach i awake to the smell of a new day

slipping out the house,
      i walk the island,
            down the red shore’s curves.

crowded among the morning merchants,
you and i are both artisans deep down i bet.

the cold air pinches me so i know i’m not dreaming.
      the walk turns into a run.
            i can’t wait.

crescents tug under my eyes begging to be given back to their father, the moon.

the dragon wind whispers my ears numb. i don’t listen.

daily chores cast aside for the chance
to catch a glimpse

of the samurai’s daughter

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