Momiji

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For R.H.M.

Recall, in your mind’s eye, this sight: two white-shirted figures
      exploring the October hills above Nagasaki. enjoying the freedom
            to talk unencumbered. “Sometimes,” you said,
                  “I think nature has a way of playing Bach to itself.”
Ascending a path through terraced fields in the serene
      late morning light

at forest edge they found a great stone staircase
      winding up into the trees. Then
            a gate in a stucco wall. Within
                  was the flagstone courtyard, immaculately swept,
of a Shinto shrine, the windowless cordovan buildings
      sleepy with the peace of the place

the entire sanctuary canopied in fiery momiji.
      Here, a wooden dipper upon a well.
            A priest appeared and seemed to motion them to drink.
                  The water was ice cold—how long
since the sun had shone here beneath
      this flaming red roof, this maple sea?

They stood speechless under the silence
      of flickering crimson, as breezes danced the upper leaves
            barely daring to move
                  the place performing the work
of attunement: decades, centuries, of daily sweeping and contemplation
      as if the gift they’d sought so hard to give had found them at last.

Departing the opalescent shade, released through the opposite wall
      onto a sunlit hill where a small red tori stood,
            there on top they ate lunch, but took no pictures
                  except in the mind
of the empty inlets and islands of the blue Tachibana-wan
      extending toward Kumamoto east

or, westward, of Nagasaki harbor’s monstrous toy ships, each
      sipping the season, the imperfection
            of every perfect moment
                  autumn-seared sun already undoing itself
in immortality and eternal life
      illicit as eye could reach. Why had they in all their preaching been unable to find
                  such joy? What god had they denied to attain it?
                                    Now, many years later,
                                                      when I mention that day
you don’t remember it. I didn’t know
                  I’d been left so far behind.