A child eats scattered flowers

on the steps to the water

Watching a shadow cast

on a gate locked shut

The river looks wistful now

This is a time of pardon

The moon is being born

slowly rising a hungry face

out of a cloud

Her image wobbles in the river

Then a dry wind blows hard

reviving the embers of a fire

Now the steps have softened

A holy man cups the river

in ash smeared hands

His yellow garland tapping the water

In the twilight

Temple bells are spreading tales

of man and god married

Men are launching

frail paper boats

that crisp with fire

and sink crackling in the water

It is lightly raining

You can hear the river's ancestral spirit purling