By Degrees
I have become Japanese
in numerous small observances --
a modest exultation
upon the discovery of purples,
Spring's sudden crocus,
a hush of green moss
muting a wet wood fence.
I have become shameful
of my curiosity
after the beauty of strangers.
I look away as we bend in greeting,
my smile breaks formally from my face,
my voice a low deferential murmur.
I have come to meditate
on pure shapes of lavender air,
water, mountain;
on what cannot be observed
but only suggested.
In this fastness
close against the fogged ink-grey hillside,
absences come to resonate
real as presences,
Leaving everything
to be said
in but seventeen syllables.