THE INN AT TAKAYAMA
Clad in our blue and white guesthouse kimonos
We sit at a low table
Where oval cups repose while tea leaves
Steep. Calm as anemones.
We have drifted in steaming baths, shed travel
Stress with western clothes.
Lemon lilies smile by the television.
From cherry tree to river
Finch notes drop with white petals.
Kneeling on the tatami mat
The innkeeper’s wife and her maid pull sheets
Smooth as just fallen snow
Tight across fiery red futons.
Later we will stroll along the shore
And cross the bridge to the three-story pagoda.
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