While following the trail of the forest,
I glanced at a couple offering
a ten yen coin
to a miniature Buddha statue.
Their dark eyes softened
at its placid gravel smile.
 
Their prayers sounded
like cat bells.
 
Sunlight rained,
tingeing the sky persimmon—
a fox’s wedding,
perhaps.
 
I took sanctuary
at the hall of a hundred wood pillars
painted in bright red.
 
The tide came to blanket the yawning moss,
nuzzled the feet of the shrine gate,
and old lore painted the waters.
 
I had been told that God is present in beauty.
 
But my heart
tightened in guilt and delight
as I watched the earth flood.
 
Let me spoil, it seemed to say.
I will be a saint later.