A monk sits alone one evening in Tokyo He's waiting patiently for the blossom front to update He has followed the flowering forecast every year As it moves northward since he was a small boy As he sits, he contemplates How all the trees flower at different times Depending on the Sun's path around the buildings And the myriad of temples And shrines located across the city The Kanhizakura and its bell-shaped flowers of pink-flushеd tones The Yamazakura, one of thе oldest species of blossom tree The Fuganzo and how, in late bloomers The leaves emerge before their flowers Throughout this time, the trees seem to carry him It is a kind of floating practice He imagines the great plants and the forest trees unwind The trees' distinct patterns and shape and form Their subtle shades and hues And even a number of petals within each blossom Stacked on top of each other so delicately As if they were placed Just as quickly as the flowers bloom, they disappear Snow petals drift, forming clusters of held lightness Around the green earth and concrete floors And as the seasons change He knows this may be his last Every spring, he returns