A Letter to You

After three weeks and a night stray in Roppongi I notice the glass is always clear.
But the sky is not.

Between them the green shades of the garden, who is indifferent.
Before me an empty reserved table for two.

I decided to write to you in New York.

And then go to the library for more books on Tanka.
Or maybe the city. I am not sure.

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