In rows of flame and paper breath,
each lantern shares its prayer of ink—
lines like drifting blossoms burn,
float above all hush in evening.
The kanji whisper lineage and truth,
echoes of artisans in poem;
illumine lines black on white,
each glow in the know of remembrance.
Temple winds winding words bold,
their meaning lost in illumination;
somewhere between calligraphy and spillage,
a poet finds his name erased in flame.
I felt that last stanza like a sigh. This is beautifully written. Good to see your words on the page again
This is why one must travel. The doorway into inspiration while being surrounded by the culture.
Japan is on my son’s list , mine too!
Thank you for sharing:)
We remember you waking crazy hours to work in the early morning hours, and this isn’t written to sound like we shared the same bed. This is just something we remembered from DUP. We’re still drooling over all of your travels, but to read you is a trip within itself, tight.
Such beautiful imagery–the lanterns feel alive, carrying both memory and impermanence. The poem glows with quiet reverence.
Beautifully penned, S. Amazing write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian