See, for the moment, there is still water lapping
Inside this block of agate,
At the heart of its irregular clouding.
The morning you died, the level of its trapped flow
Went down imperceptibly—
It will continue to grow in lightness
Despite the desire of its hued bands
To hold the air and water they have always encircled.
Miho Nonaka is a bilingual poet from Tokyo. She is the author of The Museum of Small Bones (Ashland Poetry Press, 2020). Her poems and essays have appeared in various journals and anthologies, including Iowa Review, Kenyon Review, Missouri Review, Ploughshares, Southern Review, Tin House, American Odysseys: Writings by New Americans and Helen Burns Poetry Anthology: New Voices from the Academy of American Poets. She is an associate professor of English and creative writing at Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois.
