Another rewrite. One of the advantages of publication in book form is the poems are put to rest, finished or not. I think poems about longings are particularly hard to finish; longings for one thing might well be a manifestation of a deeper longing for something else, and they change in their insistence from one moment to the next. The other side of the coin is that that changeability may be the spark for numerous poems.
Tokyo
The puddle is Tokyo;
I’m standing in my rain-proofs
looking down on Tokyo,
watching rain like metal
splinters falling on the city,
and the same thing
that’s making me happy
is making me sad:
an ephemeral beauty,
city of rain and streetlights,
a dazzling in the murk of the night
of something somewhere faraway.
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