in the Nitobe Garden

moon off the full this morning

last night it was haloed and grand

in the Nitobe Garden

momiji aflame, moss on rocks

the stillness sinks into you and the stones

where divinities have passed

gravel under your tread

step step and step again

crows from a distance, singing

neither harsh nor insistent

no demons in the tall cypress

no wind. pine boughs droop over

the water. needles frozen in time

even the alder leaves, tinged,

"turning", are utterly still