There is fear of crime beyond these walls
wallowing crutches within these hollow grounds
looking onto from a window as a stilt wobbling mounts
There are fruits dangling if of a tree’s ornamental balls
lolling Azure-winged Magpies
caw never in solitude in safety up high
awaiting rotting fruit as yolks drip if of a tree’s sigh
flutter, whirr, rustle, whoosh, gravity defies
shattering, scolding, murmuring,
around the soft jelly-like persimmon
flashing shades of leaf senescence persistently common
from branches by abscission, summon mass maturing
layers let grow let go to the bass down below
fungi fugue, mold melody, as soil’s sour dough
late autumn gently turning early winter to snow
while the fallen fruit putrefies as fallen soldier life’s mow
the skyline clarifies and heaven’s blossom blue crisper
between once lushes trees now cold air sharpens cheeks
birds scatter, wilting sliminess at the tree’s base
slips, spits, snarls, hiss purr
for the cat circles these boles.
for there was crime beyond these walls.
—animasuri’24
