as i walk through boulevards
and the sun begins to mount its way
back to Japan,
there's a slower consideration
in the boiling pavement
that lies beneath all my wishes.
the further away i get
from the subway station
the more the ground seems to breathe.
homes get bigger and plentiful;
no signs of the newest addition
of gray concrete, straight lines and estranged facades:
instead we get artistry,
a roof filled with ancestor's best intentions
mirrored lines and cracked bricks
to bring out the lemon trees
and perfume, peeking in from behind the fences
a sense that there's still some soul left
to this part of town
that for so long i felt like it could never belong to me.
as i stand on top of the bridge
i see how the sun fights back the windshields
the speed of sound coming in waves
and how much space
is still left
to dream.
i want to remember these streets by heart;
recite every name like a mouthful
so it'll never lose the quality of being misunderstood;
auxiliary to the greater good,
the final steps behind the highway:
the soft tissue behind the grayed out, green
areas sold to the highest bidder.