Every morning
as others open their papers
to the sport's page, or
keep them closed on the grim
rumors of the day,
I receive a small, sweet message
by e-mail, a message
telling of simple things...
midday naps, the scent of the lotus,
deer rutting and mountain rain,
a sickle moon, a temple bell,
muddy straw sandals, the beggar's stove,
first frost and slush-splashed robes,
plum blossom, Buddharupas,
saké cups, radishes,
garbage-removers, mosquitoes
at the eaves and a cottage door
crushed by morning glories,
tumbled down houses and dogs
mouthing down rice cakes.
Only occasionally a bigger mystery
presents itself for my morning
consideration, such as
a samurai's discarded top knot.—Naomi Beth Wakan
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