Kawabata has no twin in logic and the poem must be less than knowledge.

By Lena Walker

Like eating hot rice in a downpour,

ducks growing fat on crackers,

calling a fist a lake.

Who doesn’t want to be loved

not for their tenderness,

but for their false teeth?

Who doesn’t envy

the diligence of cattle egret?

Look, here is the blue dress I wore

in that other life.

Here is the mail left unopened.

Here is the flourish of books

unordered on the shelf.

Here is the oval fruit

I eat myself sick on.