Rice Age

Rice Age 

At Hime station only the elderly

 board the JR trains. 

Youth has abandoned the 

toil of the rice fields 

for the glitter 

of Tokyo streets. 

They ride the train into an autumn sunset 

comparing in whispers how much their hands resemble 

the gnarled branches of 

the passing cypress trees. 

Cradled in the hum of Sunday trains

 they dream in colors denied in waking hours 

by cataracts and glaucoma. 

Bright leaves continue to fall 

in memory. 

Only the red shift of August 6th 

still attaches itself to tired retinas.