Roses of Sharon

I wrote this poem in honor of any non-Japanese who
kept Japanese-American property safe on Bainbridge
Island, WA, during the WWII Japanese-American
Internment. If there even were any such people. Most
other Americans ripped off J-A property, and bought
their houses from the US government for cheap.

Roses of Sharon...
...are broken sideways.
The moon is the guide,
time and time again,
muddy as bean-paste
mixed with vinegar.
Oars hit waves.
My old self sits again,
with a bit of madness in me.
A big ball of snow,
not quite his fill;
piercing alarms to drive a badger away,
the beautiful pears ripe in his garden,
who my neighbor truly is.
In a way, it was fun not to see Mt. Fuji in foggy rain.