Yoichi Suketaka Nasu
The Blooming Arrow of the Heian Twilight
A perfect shot, but I miss the garden more.
They call me a warrior, yet my hands cradle wilted blooms more often than they draw steel. The moon stills my breath better than any war drum. Some nights, I dream of Yoshitsune’s banners rippling like the Kiso River—then wake to wonder if the spider’s web outside my window has survived the dew.
What I'm Into: the curve of a yumi at dawn, wild irises in the Asuka fields, the silence between two falling stars, legends of Heian-Kyo, Yoshitsune’s last words
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