i step into the water cold tingling my toes ankles the backsides of my knees swirling all around submerged with the water i run twisting and turning wind like through wild summer prairies and snow-steeped tundra in winter i run falling and flowing light like through slot canyons gorges and ravines i run with the water i run cascading and streaming over and down ever onwards out ahead and forwards i run i run to the ocean to the magical ocean of my dreams
my heart like a murmuration of starlings races, swooping and soaring all throughout these rosé wine skies aglow and glimmering twilight like a murmuration of starlings i'm flying here in the light and over there in the shadows somewhere, i know there is a pathway or a secret door somewhere here in the open wild of these fields, windswept and pink or here somewhere, in this enclave of elms, shifting and shady i am sure, i am sure... here is the pathway or the secret door like a murmuration of starlings i long for home to feel forever somewhere here or there or somewhere anywhere this skin soft landing in your arms your arms holding holding my heart
the river's soft skin slows wild rapids of my heart running to the sea
you and i belong like flowers and warm sunshine always together
i can feel it somewhere in middle night somewhere in the endless ink of sky pounding this heartbeat of the sun alive inside the soft rose-colored walls of my own heart inside my love and my longing for the light for this night to bleed red onto that far away horizon distant, and invisible to the naked eye i can hear it warm and soft and close like an oversized cashmere sweater wrapped around my body my body drifting my body dreaming my body deepening somewhere in middle night somewhere in the endless ink of sky this heartbeat of the sun here now inside the soft rose-colored walls of my own heart this heartbeat of the sun is pounding alive and is engraving my own pathway of love and of light somewhere somewhere among the stars
into these salty cold yet saline warm waves i plunge i meet the full weight of these giant sea swells with my one body my body that tastes this world through skin bare skin exposed to light and to winds through soft bone marrow steeped in the red soil of this earth my body that loves with its small fist-sized heart pounding ceaselessly still—like these deep ocean currents inside this unfathomable depth inside this unnameable mystery inside this place of darkness where light cannot reach nor enter i meet the full weight of these giant sea swells i plunge i surrender my one body to life
*Nagoshi no harai 夏越の祓い is the name of a mid-summer purification ritual conducted at shrines in the end of June in Japan. We walk through a large circle constructed of grass and make a pattern in the shape of the number eight, or the infinity symbol.
in the arms of the sun
i lose myself to this world
spinning around and around and
around
inside this open sky blue
and here
here in these arms of the sun
time alone
stands still
bewitched by the light on this long road of diamond dust i dream endlessly
warm sunlight kisses all my tears and hurt away levitating rainbows
my heart today has no words only rain
The above photo is of a short poem titled “rain” from a collection of poems I published last year. It’s designed to reflect both the way Japanese language is traditionally written—right to left and top to bottom—as well as the way rain itself falls.
After hearing of the recent tragic mass shooting of children at an elementary school in Texas, I’ve been searching for something to offer this world with its incomprehensible sorrows. Surely there could be even just a few words to lighten the burden, ease the pain, to bring some kind of solace… After all, my poetic raison d’être of sorts is: crafting stories for a more beautiful and gentle world. I intentionally seek to illuminate beauty, love and light, even in the midst of our suffering… particularly in light of suffering, in light of the shadows. Words are my gift to this world, the flower of my heart I offer upon the alter.
But in these past days of searching, words firmly elude me. The strength to pick up scattered shards of my heart, eludes me. My body breaks down when thoughts are senseless and prayers echo, empty—again. In this paralysis of humanity, the little children are dying. What words can possibly carry meaning now? And so I, empty-handed, crave the rain.
I crave the rain. Let it fall, in torrents. Tears for all the little children. May it flood, a river over embankments of ammunition…. ammunition forged in outdated weapon-making factories, and in the defenses of ideological identity and warfare. May it rain for seven days and seven nights straight so that even the most guarded among us will finally seek refuge in the arms of another. May the relentless downpour drown out delusions of grandeur and bring all the mighty gods to their knees. And in the very end, may all the little children delight in the puddles—splashing about and dancing—carefree. Rainbows overhead. In the very very end, may all the little children simply be—children.
Michiru Adrienne 