Before the typhoon

                                     a pond fringed with
                                     ragged men napping on benches,

                                     and branches undone
                                     from leaves she was plucking.

                                     I urged her:
                                     gather only those lying about.

                                     Curl the stems
                                     to make the masts.

                                     See, now they’re budging.
                                     •
                                     We were running behind.

                                     The cavern filled with
                                     a sigh foreseen: Strong wind

                                     caused by trains.
                                     Onto our platform stepped

                                     her classmate clutching
                                     a brown recorder case.

                                     Accompanying himself
                                     nobody was about

                                     to hurry him.
                                     •
                                     Her audition room doors

                                     swung to a close.
                                     The soft drinks dispenser

                                     offered me ice.
                                     The crossword asked for

                                     a row of vowels.
                                     So many Os, so

                                     many openings.
                                     In Omoo

                                     by Melville
                                     •
                                     Mori, the teacher said.

                                     It meant forest.
                                     A family name planted

                                     at the start of her greeting.
                                     She made strokes on

                                     white paper—a clearing
                                     so the child could see them

                                     for the trees.
                                     How are they different?

                                     They have dedicated years.