Observing the universe in a puddle of water,
Ganesha sacrifices his right tusk
To write down a bevy of words
In order to analyze them.
“In many traditions around the world,” he says,
“A mole on the foot means one is destined to travel.”
He suddenly turns to me, his expression grave.
“If that’s the case, then what does a mole on the brain represent?”
And it’s as if I’m falling…
The digital clock
Atop the building across the river reads 4:45 am
As my weary soul traverses the Brooklyn Bridge.
Its gothic arches, stone towers,
And spider-web of cables
Call to mind the years that have elapsed
Since it first spanned the East River.
Behind me, the buildings of Manhattan
Glisten and gleam
Like thousands of jewels stacked atop one another.
I picture old Graybeard
On the deck of a ferry,
Crossing this same stretch of tributary
Well over a hundred years ago,
His mind everywhere at once
And his spirit one with the whole of time.
Across the dark water,
The Q Train rattles along the Manhattan Bridge,
Its rhythm syncopated
Like a Duke Ellington tune,
Bringing me back to the present
While the faintest of light in the eastern sky
Creates a kaleidoscopic collage of color
Reminiscent of a Mondrian painting.
And with the dawn, I am reborn.
© Chester Sakamoto