THE DAY HE DIED
For Lonny Kaneko
That morning I pruned
the red lace-leaf maple tree,
branches bleeding sap
into a still-cold
soil, crows circling over
my head. Early light
spoke of promises
the earth has made forever,
that all will grow back
in time. I believed
only in impermanence,
the falling away,
loss, pain, struggle, death.
Crows laughed on incoming wind,
knowing the full truth.