in the Sun Yat Sen Garden

pine, bamboo and fat orange carp
lazing in the old pond

twisted stones, moss-tufted, pocked,
superannuated, dance deformed like
Daoist saints in flight

Chinese pavilion with hipped roofs
arches tangle into the air like tentacles
beside glass highrises, like Shanghai

but this being Vancouver, a sudden vision
a sign -- "Everything is going to be alright"
in block capitals on downtown Eastside
brick abandoned warehouse

in the Silk Road Gift Shop
a pushy Chinese lady wants to sell me
flying horses -- "special jade from Himalayas!"
"half-off for Thanksgiving!"

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

beach #3

volcanoes biding their time

cry of a disturbed heron

white stone