Leaving the Theatre of Dreams
Tonight I walk through spring sadness,
the nostalgia of dreams remembered and foregone,
familiar places where we wrote our own epitaph,
misspoken lines and rooms seen in the wrong light –
deep purple, not auroreal dawn.
In the film, the girl is a patched rag doll
with hair that changes colors every few days
and the boy, driven from work to ennui.
Running for the train, he is always out of time.
Of course, they come together magically in the film.
Of course, they argue,
once the illusions start to slide.
Tonight, I wanted to drink warm saké to forget
these streets in my old city
where we bought orange tulips
and lay down together, only to wake
to our differences
and how there was no turning back
to the golden room we shared.