The Rules of War

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Nausicaa 375

Let go your breath
Nothing ever so short as these few years
Of smoke and fire
Sweetly we dream of dirt
And then next return.
Here, among the mouths of priests
And vexed half-sleep
We meet goodbye
In barges stuck in the sand.
Armed with sticks and mirrors
The tide comes in
And we are done for.

This fear is a vessel that takes
Us from our beds and returns us to the day.

Nausicaa 376

Because of these little birds
We come to sit on gentle rocks
Taking tea and talking
Without noticing the time

Once there was a little house
Full of canaries
In a foreign land
Where people came to sit on rocks
And tell the time.


The end of Nausicaa