Frantic Summer · Dazaiosamu
The Terminus Is Sheshan, but We Never Tried to Get There
The buildings of the office districtmaintain their long, soundless gaze at one anothertheir skin smooth, their foreheads rising like those of most drowsy peopleThe plane trees, never truly looked atsway in the wind through the silent blue afternoon, going on feigning deathconfessing to one another through red calumnies Rain falls, the earth catches itas naturally as when we last went down to a riverwetting our toes and a corner of the spring clothes we had just changed into“There are no cats in this poem,the cats have all run somewhere else.”No one questions it, nor are any promises madeThere is still some time left in the nightyou and I know full well—it will be a while before we sleepa long, long timebefore we can no longer wake The lights flicker a few times, then go out foreverpeople afterward are granted a brief freedomat last gaining a kind of spying—spring inside the surveillance camera How good it is: on my way to find youeverything comes to have something on its mindthe night wind rustleslovers are kissingthe moon is falling