WebPoems

This impatiently prancing red horse

Tears up the near grass, tugging

The coiled rope on the man's wrist.

The tackle's so clear we can see

How each rope reins him in.

But he dances on sand that falls away

Down some steps, where the fishermen

Dangle their lines into an abyss,

Or perhaps, a stream--the sand seems to float

Out over the water, becoming treetops,

And the paths among the rice fields, beyond.

Connection's blurred, and this wooden frame--

The end of the bridge? A guardrail?

Intrudes like an architect examining a site,

Dividing us from that lush bay,

Providing depth, peekaboo, and human craft,

In the middle of this shifting scene,

Making Mount Fuji an after thought, out there.