Lined with turning foliage, the bus route winds ahead towards the hospital. Beyond a field, the womb-like rise of a hill before the road runs following the river: gold-green dip of a willow, pink swell of balsam with pods still ripe for popping. On the far bank a Pen with three cygnets, one standing as tall as the adult swan.

his tiny ear—
a bright new moon
in the sunset sky