samurai

an elder samurai
straw sandals floating 
on the sand of the shore
held his tachi proper
its tainted steel folded in layers
like his grandmother had their woven blankets
he felt the ocean’s hypnotic falling
a sandy filtering of nature’s white noise
its cold foam flanking the tip of the katana
carrying prayer to takamagahara
his fear exhausted into
a cosmic lack of understanding
but a bone-deep believability
in bushido
he fell to the strand
as the foam of the ocean briefly grew pink
and bubbled toward the amnesia of the waves
their crests reaching for trophies
from the smooth soaked shoreline