My church is not far from here,

in a bamboo grove down by the water falling.

You will know it by the three stones

I have stacked and the tinkling bell high above.

You will know it anyway, through arched culms

across fallen dry leaves to a mossy slope,

a sandy cove of pools and rocks

to the river-water, green and gentle.

Bending to caress the sweet water,

poised then lowering like a tiger at the soft edge,

your lips will embrace a thousand dancing kisses.

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