After to be left alone, to miss you, by the wind from a slit of windows.
What your name, at Yabura Street loose my footing, I wonder.
At the bottom of Shinjuku, your family temple is there, a flower for offering.
At Mamiana (the Soviet Russia embassy was used to be there), his bed room to rent, a big blood board does. Or, in the burrow of a raccoon dog, his bed room to rent, big weasel does.
You comb, after shaving on your underarm, spring has come.