Sweet rice straw
we gather
green to twine
a shimenawa,
humble ward
against ills
across the door.
Faint scent familiar,
fresh-cut, clean
as rain on dry ground,
O grass snake
embrace this modest
shrine of a house.

In the folds of trees,
in uncut
roadside grass,
tucked in lava cracks,
infinite orchids
easy as any weed,
everyday as rain.