A Canal

A canal not a foot wide

runs to our house from the weir at the millpond.

A grating's at this end, before

the water breaks into splinters

over the lip of the cliff.

We've been finding frogs,

held to the grating by the water's flow,

and we carry them down to the river.

Today the cherry dropped its blossoms,

wild and white,

to coat the canal at waterline

like the silk curtains along an antique Chinese emperor's route,

and I wonder who the next frog will be.