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A fence dirtied by dust continues,

Leaves turn from red to yellow.

Recollections accumulate upon the path of memory. As if spreading white linen.

Seasons hold four keys, slip off the stairs. The entrance is shut again.

The green tree is hollow. When hit, it sounds.

While night sneaks out.

That day,

I am sad like the skin of the boy in the sky.

Eternity cuts between us.

I lose countless images to that other side.

from The Collected Poems of Chika Sagawa Find more by Chika Sagawa at the library

Copyright © 2015 Chika Sagawa
Used with the permission of Canarium Books.

Published in Chika Sagawa Poems Sawako Nakayasu

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.