Terrace deep as the sky.Stone bench where I sit and read,
I wandered by myselfInto the heart of the mountains of Yoshino.
In one hand a book, in the other, a bag made of newsprint–No weather beaten bones here
Just lichis bought in the market,Thirty rupees per kilogram.
Stalks mottled red tied up with string,Flesh the color of pigeon wings —
Sweet simmering.Sunlight bruises air
Pine trees blacken.Where shall I go?
The Dhauladhar peaksAre covered in snow.
This poem is part of the cycle of poems inspired by Basho, in Meena Alexander’s new book Birthplace with Buried Stones (TriQuarterly Books/Northwestern University Press, forthcoming Fall 2013)