Walking the long lane to Kinkakuji,
under the maple trees
just turning to Autumn, and you,
sometimes latched to me,
sometimes far off ahead
looking for your Japan.
Under the golden pavilion
we cracked jokes at all the people,
the babble of tongues,
the automatic hands raising cameras,
the click of smiles.
But perhaps we were too harsh
looking down at that crowd’s
unreflecting joy in this bustle of life
brought together under the gaudy relic.
For I saw you in a moment
gazing at it, eyes and lips open,
receiving, childlike wonder,
and the way you were beautiful
in its dazzling mirror.
Copyright Ricky Barrow 2014