Ukiyo-e
Thin curls coaxed from the
grain released
from all claim by the
dogged
rooting of the spoon gouge,
bone white ribbon
easing itself to the fragrant
floor,
spiral cherry rivulet
lost in the churn at the
feet of the carver
is the first thing I
remember.
A churlish man I recall,
the burl of his squint
screening detail and smoke
from his cigarette,
a blue double helix rising
in mirror image,
a lowering ceiling
steeping
his head in stormy weather
gimlet eye brewing heavy
seas
a tempest lipping
at the canted rim of a
petal thin
tea cup, the striated wave
heaving for the heavens,
top lopped off clean by
sheering wind,
the fluter and the veiner alive
and biting
in the hands of the carver
who cuts me free
at last, rendered in stark
relief at
the boiling crest of the
surf break.
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