Shoji

Breath here

is hung paper

framed by ribs

 

and made half-radiant

by the light.

 

It's now the moon

that illuminates

your shadow.

 

Dusk with wings

that ached in flight,

struggled against wind

 

and ice. The cold panic

flickering -

 

frozen reeds, blue cinders

of glass.

 

What  have  you come

to tell me,  what song

 

 on this screen

of bone and sigh?

 

Maybe nothing

but who you are.

 

Bruised woman

in the twilight,

 

silhouette

of someone

 

who has not forsaken

her skill to survive.