Old Kyoto Notes

by Peter Robinson

‘clear out of the picture’
Denise Riley

1

Blossom time, back in Kyoto
to catch at glimpses of ourselves
from lives that were, we’ll pause
while tourists take a photo —

or be photographed ourselves
now time lived flows forever
past pain down managed levels
of the Kamo river —

2

and where its Y of two streams merge
converging in the humid heat
around about mid–day,
tiny birds fan at our feet

hawks wheel, tumble across,
a couple of cranes flap by,
that egret in the shallows,
it takes my breath away.

3

On awkward turtle steppingstones
mothers with their children,
schoolgirls in blue uniform
leap or dodge each other.
It’s like a traffic jam.

Although undoubtedly here
hiding in plain sight,
being written out, or not
a part of their own stories,
you still can’t disappear.

4

From on the bridge, late evening,
its lanterns orange in a night
of cloudless climes and blinking neon,
dark gulfs between each point of light
are the interstellar vacuum,

and thanks to an airiness, gravity,
come back from the video rental
I’m firmly on that parapet,
tiny in earth’s shadow, yet
head up, heading home.

5

Oh, and it’s a shame
I know, being seen like this
near the flower–shop at a corner,
all its colours on display —

as if to deck a corpse or coffin,
though death might be the very last thing
on anybody’s mind
this public holiday.

6

Two alien lovers kiss,
a wading fisherman
lets go his reeled–in fish.

Once again, I’m ravished,
cagey, but not caged —
this boy set free . . .

7

this boy with his own snake–belt and knees
below real traffic stuck on bridges,
and that same bundle of sensations
as if stepping into the river twice.

Then at stirred petals’ peripheries
you can almost hear the voice
of someone lost, somebody who
would take the edge off solitude
despite those great renunciations
mayflies make, or midges . . .

Right now, I renounce them!