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Cycling Past Kamakura

by Taylor Bond


Happiness is something that can only be glanced upon;

I look back on it now, eyes cast over my shoulder,

but the sun is still too bright. Like the flash of a bomb;

the glimpse of heaven before disintegration,

the invisible traces of radiation like a religion

spreading through pale air and roots.

How I wish to return and lose myself

in that blindness. Let myself free into

the sound of rope snapping in the wind

by the temple’s gate, burn with salt, the ocean

cold and dragging sand into its gut; that freedom

that glorious, imperfect freedom that only exists in thoughts;

it is a dangerous and shattering home.