It’s called the brightest sea in the world— ethereal lights shining like alien beacons as I stare from the rain mottled cement steps of my apartment building. The squid boats bob on the waves.

The sea air swells with the summer heat— the first frogs of May sing a basso encore three seasons late. The fireflies will be lighting the groves beyond the outskirts of town.

The change of the season reminds me of my first days on the island— and long ago summer nights when I first came to Japan as a kid.

Now I listen to the dappled drops of rain as the typhoon season approaches. I still have no ready words for recent discoveries— but I know it’s importance when sharing it with others brings a brief silence.

A changing path need not harken fears when the nature of the heart remains the same.

Twenty years ago— now— and ten years on. I can see the filament leading between the bulbs of memory and fancied projection. A glow will remain about these times like the favored plants of the fireflies— and in time— I will forget the cold & loneliness.

As it did before— the weighted warmth of the humid countryside summer will flavor the golden-lit memories.

And perhaps I will think of the stretch of lights hanging over the horizon— searching for answers in the deep.