An implicit winch
Published in
May 23, 2023
In the morning
I tremble with you at the thickness of the four slices of bread.
If there is a new pickup truck
I want to see something directly and discover it for myself.
A man who has spent his whole life writing haiku in Swedish
sleeps in that challenge, that cargo bed.
An implicit winch winds up
the space of only the left half of my body.
There may be
poetry in it
that even Hasebe’s logic can’t reach.
