Woman sunk in mud.
Respective plane tickets.
An emergency landing field.
Desperately twisted wings, like an angel's.
Angel says, "I'm keeping my tear to the last."
Is her tear for only one cry?
Red breakfast is prepared for her
Brass’s lachrymal glands
Paradisiacal markets are selling
plastic lachrymal glands.
at reasonable price.
Smooth, colorless, transparent, loose and light.
Flashy tears, here
Lachrymal glands of brass.
Little rust from
much salty fluid.
She hardly ever cries.
So why are the glorious brass lachrymal glands
in my mind.
Natsuko Hirata is a resident of Tokyo, She is the editor of Quince Wharf, an e-journal that includes translations into Japanese of poetry in English, and she has done translations of the work of Sandy McIntosh and Thomas Fink. Her poetry has appeared in the Marsh Hawk Review.