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.