moving to Tokyo he began to collect
scraps of green, like bits of cloth,
moving from one to another on his
early morning walks, that was another
new thing
the crisp morning air of the pre-dawn city
when he could catch the faint sound
of bird chirp, though mostly the great
caws of the black crows as they swooped
and hunted through bags of trash
still, the streets were empty enough
that he could walk without purpose,
without keeping to strictly defined parts,
without his Spidey-sense tingling
at the slight whoosh of from-behind
bicycles as they swerved their way
through crowds
the air sharp he walked quickly
to warm up, from the earthy garden
of an old house to the bamboo encircled
grounds of a small shrine, always taking in
the perimeter of an odd bit of green woods,
maybe two acres square, in the midst of the
lego-square buildings, protected by a wall
concealing any sign of house within
he imagined some family living there
according to ancient Edo rhythms,
a clan of rip van winkles who had not
ventured out in a hundred years,
playing and doing laundry
by a forgotten spring
as the salarymen in their black suits
and office ladies with thighs revealed
filled the street, mingling with old men
on their way to the early morning places
old men go
an increasing flow of cars and the sudden
clack of trains bringing waves and waves
of freshly pressed warriors,
police directing traffic,
a rhythmic weaving and bobbing
encountered as, moving upstream
he made his way to work.
