尚も (Naomo) * * *
 * * * Japanese (adv.): yet even now

I love it when her quiet hands tend the broth.
I drop in beans, 
and Ryuichi invites her with the sake wine
warm, fruity, sweet—
a katana for my head.
—and birds flown drop seed for forest green kyūri, 
our cucumbers bobbing in the bubbling donabe pot 
for our nabemono, a group-soup swimming 
with beef, noodle, and cabbage.
He has eyes for her.
I am still with her silence, it is moonlit

where each player-flavor in the pot will savor—
distinct, planted, sitting as planets 
in free fall, orbiting the sun where 
her mouth rests
surrounded by silky towels at center.
We roll out wide, swoop closely 
as herons scooping fish.
She falls through space, we follow.