Birdbath, Kyoto, January

It is full of tea this time of year,
a steep of maple leaf, pine straw,
camellia wings.

And the brew is cold,
snow dripped from overarching branches
melted in the small stone bowl.

A gaze gives back your fortune:
winter when no bird will come,
when your heart's full blossom,

is as distant as home.

by Joan Swift