Anna's bowels gurgle
like an illicit distilling apparatus
on the opposite side
of The Great Ship of Dreams,
as the night travels in reverse,
it's dark face grinding through -20°C

Having found an answer,
I feel well out of the question

I throw out my arm casually
like a chameleon its tongue,
pulling the card with sticky notes
out of the golden lizard skin mug
at the bedside book shelf,
marking my holding position
in Shinkichi Takahashi's Triumph
of the Sparrow
with translations from the Japanese
by Lucien Stryk, my mind at ease,
pulled over into the curb
by a Zennist officer from the Shogenji Patrol,
serving me a speed reading ticket