Evening Snow

for Kaji Aso

ink on tissue paper

the wet sound

of falling snow

as if guiding his hand

the fluid strokes

of the brush

the haiga master’s calligraphy—

unwinding down the page

in a scroll

a cardinal’s brilliance

and without using

any red

after inserting stocking feet

into straw sandals—

his deep bow

departing . . .

the sound of this evening’s snow

falling into nothing