Lyric

From the other side, we look like stick figures

Living inside a spring-colored square box

Flat walls, soft pastels

Life reduced to angles and breath

I raised my hand against the wind

And even my fingerprints disappeared—

A spring mirror

Reflecting nothing back

If I had to say it:

Your wings are ceramic

Your eyes are glass

You’re probably a concrete shape of light

Light has no outline

Still the ice melts anyway—

Your Calpis diluting

White ghosts in the heat

Backlit, you’re beautiful

Like frosted glass

In the spring hometown

I can’t go back to

Even if living together ends someday

Let’s just spin artificial lilies in the wind

It’s fun—

Because there are mornings

That slip through Lilium pomponium

The railing burns from the faint heat of your hand

Until it’s stripped bare—

We live day to day

Like that

I was a dull bird

Badminton feathers don’t fly well

All the way to you

Spring was cruel

The cherry blossoms should’ve bloomed

Somewhere news of killing couldn’t reach

Hello, radio—

Tell me it’s Sunday

Like a bird without life

Still listening

There’s a god even inside the mailbox

Early spring letters piling up

Until I can’t breathe

Everyone’s probably like steamed buns

On a table

Compass marks fading—

Flowers in the middle of town

With just a little lotion

I think I could draw a border—

Room 205

A small nation of skin

We’ve never seen cherry blossom seeds

Only carried

The sound of our hearts

Spring Thanatos sits on the scale

And suddenly

The sunset starts to bleed

Even the day my throat bones are collected

There’ll still be a shuttle

Flying beautifully

Over the park

I failed at quitting smoking—

Now the ventilation fan

Has nowhere to take this away

Sorry I can’t carry it anywhere