Matcha Mochi

I sit alone,
the window open,
scent of rotting lilac flowers wafting in
tracing its way along the creases
in my skin

Earth stands,
looking like Godzilla himself

Fire stands,
looking like Inari Okamisama’s honored kitsune

Water stands,
looking like a Lewis Moonsnail shell in a bowl of saltwater

Air flows,
touching everything, but looking like a fan with
Grandmother Fuji-sama watching from above floating cherry blossoms

Sustenance stands,
looking like green tea mochi: a single, verdant sphere

The year stands,
a golden bell that resembles the small dog-woman cuddled
in my lap and snoring

I sit here, looking like a human being,
the window open,
I am not alone