The dream is full of things missing
letters needed to make words
a missed train to Tokyo-
and I have never seen Japan-
full of needing and not finding.
I grasp blindly, trying to catch
images, thoughts, slipping away
snowmen melting in the sun
carrot noses lonely on the grass.
Waking, I am Shel Silversteins's rumpled circle
with the pie-shaped hole, bouncing along
humming, asking everyone
'Have you seen my missing piece? '
I write a poem, hope
that that will make me whole
will let me find whatever's missing
reach Tokyo, or
wherever it is I am supposed to go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem