At Teishi’s side I pare the dawn to shine,

sudare breathing while swallows draw the line;

Aloeswood spirals, reed-marks thin and clear—

I sweep the margin, let the day appear.

Hairpin clicks once; the room holds clean,

kicho veils shimmer with a dry-wood sheen;

I keep the lines spare, bright, and fine,

let true small words fall right on

One—kettle halo; two—reed shadows sway;

three—sleeve perfume; four—far bell away;

five—the first word fits the margin’s way.

Cut to the dawn—keep it clean,

click-heart timing, edges align.

Brush to the beat—make it seen,

fine bright lines—daylight design.

They speak of moon-ink moving under screens,

lantern rings holding a tempered gleam;

Violet currents tracing quiet seams—

I balance brightness with the shaded beams.

Sleeve to sleeve, the messages go,

truth takes a figure where the clear marks show;

I name what’s certain, let the soft breathe,

and fold what’s tender under the sleeve.

One—tea steam rising; two—the lacquer grain;

three—a nimble phrase; four—calm after rain;

five—let meaning land, precise and plain.

Cut to the dawn—keep it clean,

click-heart timing, edges align.

Brush to the beat—make it seen,

fine bright lines—daylight design.

“Kōroho snow—raise the blinds and see.”

“What morning won’t say, the margin lets be.” (tape-stop)… kick—

Cut to the dawn—carry it on,

paper to pulse—measured and strong.

Brush to the beat—make it seen,

keep it refined—daylight design.