Kubota Garden

I wanted to see the teahouse

a bridge arching over water

I wanted to study Japanese maples

their fine-toothed fiery leaves

I wanted to bow my head to chance,

to a lantern, to stones placed in a wall

The paths led us down and down

far off we heard workmen building a road

overhead a jet scrawled a contrail note of farewell

If I wanted to kneel at the pond, it was to know

how like my mother I’ve become

I wanted to admire hydrangeas, exclaim

at a lace-cap two-color one—both blush pink

at the gate, where two panels slide together,

each side making one half of the sun—

letting it sound and then be still