11
The river is like a lake this morning
for quiet—image of houses and green bank.

A barge is lying at a dock;
nothing moves but the crane
emptying the cargo.

The dark green hill,
the sunset, staining the river—
quiet as a lake;
the tree beside me
covered with white blossoms
that cover but cannot hide
the black gnarled branches.

12
At night walking along the streets, the darker because of trees,
we came to a tree, white with flowers,
and the pavement under the branches was white with flowers too.