On the night boat to Miyakejima. Someday you will learn what it is you need.
You have made no plans, have no reservations, no place to go or stay. You do not speak the language. What you do not need, right now, is to think about these things, but to sleep.
Asleep on my feet –
a sudden whiff of seaweed
and fishnets drying
Outside on deck there is a lot of dark. Dark sky, glittering dark of the harbor, somewhere above you the paler dark of a new volcano.
You might be on a small barely-populated island, seven hours south of Tokyo, at five-thirty in the morning, after having slept very little, and in your clothes. You might be hiking a long twisted road up a mountain, for reasons you cannot clearly remember.
The entire island is wired for sound. Every now and then a set of speakers will hum into life, as if clearing its throat to say something, but then thinking better of it and falling quiet again.
The day is breaking –
one side of the mountain pink
one in cold shadow
There is nothing for you to do but to walk, following the slope of the roads upward, to see how far you can get before something or someone makes you stop.