laying next to you, the moon sighs
through your bedroom-
curtain made of travel brochures &
maps of Egypt. your finger traces
the Nile river, pressed on
the frosted window. the Mediterranean
& Red Sea drip down the nape of your neck.
I start the conversation
as if sharing the telephone close
with you. on the other line,
the sound of two waves creating a peak—
your bad eye glows like a house
at midnight. there is a sound of an animal
scratching somewhere in the walls.
we must be practical. like the moon,
I forget why there are strings tied
around my finger. I pull your shirt
& put my ear against your ribs.
a porcelain bird breaks in your stomach.
Hideaki Noguchi received his MFA in poetry from Columbia College Chicago. He now resides in Pittsburgh, PA, where he is continuing to write and play music.