• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 04


I hear the fish fly.
My face is a bowl, quiet vessel
full of fleeting words, swallowed
as I dive. See how I leave you here
watching silk gardens ripple in my
wake. Hands, bound birds, escape.

I hear the fish fly.
My hidden breasts, pale water-lilies
float, your baited eyes cast on pleated
kimono or peony are caught. I drift
in tatamis. See, these feet can swim the sky,
their porcelain, that flush of falling sun.