She made a promise to herself to have no
water until she hit something, out there
in the foggy morning between trees
that looked like they were dying, but
were really simply biding all their time.
The doves on the high branches cooed
at each other messages that could only be
related to the universal truth that is the
humor of a deeply present love.
Her grandfather is pacing across the boards
of their front porch listening to the wind
and keeping an eye glued closely to the sky.
The sake heating in the handed down tokkuri
is like a paint fleck on the corner of the wall.
Still at the proper time he retrieves the flask
and pours two cups and takes his morning sip
in the hopes that all this ceremony will bring
her that one moment she is looking for.
With her hand against the ground she can hear
them chewing up the grass and breathing as they
move their nervous eyes. The path she followed
told its lies, but couldn’t shake her arrow
that she drew back against her cheek
like she had learned to. It flew just like she knew
it would but drove itself deep into the bark
of a background tree she didn’t see behind
what she was aiming for with everything.