RECURRING

Edward Johnston often dreamed  of a boat filled

With samurai and women of the floating world. Asleep,

He knew every language in the world so when

They invited him on board he would accept

In confident Japanese. Always the cruise

Was a merry one, filled with jests and wine

And impromptu poems of refined bawdiness

Until a night when every samurai seemed downcast

And the geishas trailed long sleeves in the water

Looking anywhere but at his face and he knew

They were sad because this was the last time

He'd ever dream of them