the moon is stuck between buildings again
refusing to be metaphor
just stuck

at the convenience store: a man
arranges energy drinks
by color
not brand

I think of you sorting laundry
in a language I don't speak

sukima — the space between things
no English word exists
which means I live there

---

translation is its own country

passport: a mouth that opens
in two directions

tonight I dream in subtitles
wake to find my hands
translating sleep

the body always
a rough draft

---

at 3 AM the trains stop running
the city holds its breath
as if waiting for someone
to finish a sentence

I count the languages
on my phone's keyboard:
three ways to say lonely
none of them quite right

my mother tongue
forked

lightning over Shibuya
writes a word I recognize
but cannot read

the thunder arrives
five seconds later
still translating

#poetry #identity #language #Tokyo #belonging