The night is out
from behind moonshine curtains
peering down upon my closed eyes
to crop out dreams and replace
with vivid reminders of us; remade
memories that I shred the mornings
after the night is out to torment
in retribution, tenfold, for daring
to forget this very night I used
to inveigle you to me. Immured,
my face has become a canvas
to the colours of your image
etched firmly over mine,
a second face over my first
tracking trajectories
of our time as ‘together’.
-- Ikehata Yuichi
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