Sakura

I see your feet,
short and fat and white and on your wooden sandals
like two baby whales, on separate chopping boards
carrying you, as if floating
levitating on the long and green and swampy rice grass
standing like a statue in motion, drifting river down


Your face, so perfect and beautiful and white and pale
and perfectly oval, like a porcelain mask
like a static and motionless haiku on a sad expression
almost like a watermark
Your hair, barely covering your forehead
black bangs, like razor sharp brush strokes
and your eyes
marbles of onyx and pearl
perfectly tilted, wandering
telling the story of tears,
rolling down your cheeks like hydrogen bombs


I feel the cold frost on the water lilies
and I dare not say a word
I only witness the soft movement of your lotus flower lips
your perfectly bleached teeth
and behind a forest of exploding cherry blossoms
I see you disappear.