今朝の落書き

The place where your words reside
is not a single point somewhere inside you
but every scene along the road you have walked

Wearing down the soles of your shoes
soiling clothes that were once new
still holding on to a bag that has grown old
rubbing eyelids overcome with sleep
everything you have walked through

Words with few landscapes dwelling in them
are wind carrying only meaning
goodbye the instant they brush the skin

Without even being able to engage with them
they merely set our hair swaying

Without even being able to remember them
somewhere by now, on someone else's voice, once again
they blow lightly

When a home echoes in your words
there is no need to reach for a dictionary
no competing over the number of books read
the feeling of earth you have trodden reaches me
the smell of rain that fell arrives
I catch a glimpse of your journey

Letters that know no animal trails do not become words
symbols containing no sweat from one's own brow return to the earth as symbols

Words depend on people
I suffer through them
and am saved again

Words reflect people
you waver in them
and sometimes lament

Words nurture people
I am startled by them
and face forward again

Be poetic

Like each ray of sunlight
etched into the face of the person who taught me
they soaked into my cheeks
those were surely words

Thank you for reading again today. Poetry is something another person reads, more than something you yourself write. In that sense, too, I find myself wanting to be poetic.