Tea sprouts wildly
by the roadside:
jade splayed fingers

flaming the earth
in warped green flicks.
Mild, astringent,

the aroma drifts
into the
triviality

of the present.
Looking over
my backyard fence

toward the road,
quick, damp-green scent
antiquates my

vision: Eisai,
holding seeds from
Kyoto, hikes

across border
hills into a
feudal Japan.

The tea-lined road,
framed by my
imagination,

is an anachronism,
a snapshot that’s
double-exposed.