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