New Mirage Journal

Somewhere Else

The cherry blossoms bloom
and fall in this late autumn—
like tinted lint or thin
shavings of pig skin—

because I’ve seen
tattooed pig flesh made
into art once
the porker is dead
and the image is stretched tight.

Here, the landscape is old
but loose     as we form
characters we do not know
the meaning of

in the gardens, near temples,
shrines, and close space,
meaning only
the art is fluid;
the path around the Imperial Garden
is a Western S
and the cherry blossoms flutter
to bare the trees
and the azaleas are bright as sherbet.


~Terri McCord