THE DAY HE DIED

		For Lonny Kaneko

That morning I pruned
the red lace-leaf maple tree, 
branches bleeding sap

into a still-cold
soil, crows circling over
my head. Early light

spoke of promises
the earth has made forever,
that all will grow back

in time. I believed
only in impermanence,
the falling away,

loss, pain, struggle, death.
Crows laughed on incoming wind,
knowing the full truth.