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 drifted in steaming baths, shedding travel
Stress with western clothes.
Lemon lilies smile by the television.
From cherry tree to river,
Goldfinch notes drop with white petals.
Kneeling on the tatami,
The Innkeeper’s wife and her maid pull the sheets,
Smooth as just fallen snow,
Tight across firecracker red futons. Later
We will stroll along the shore
And cross the bridge to the three-story pagoda.
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