July afternoon— <br />Lily's tongue <br /> the color of her snow cone. <br /> <br /> Sunlight warms <br />the black cars <br /> in the cemetery. <br /> <br />Window-shopping in Osaka— <br /> hard to believe <br />you once lived here, Buson. <br /> <br /> In the zinnias, <br />the hummingbird's <br /> on a bender. <br /> <br /> Moonlight on the river— <br />Thirty-two years and still <br /> I don't know how to say it. <br /> <br /> Looking back <br />across the field— <br /> our footprints filled with water.<br /><br />Matthew Thorburn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thirty-two-years-2/
