Meiji Shrine

I want to make a wish but you're watching
the girl twirling in the peach
dress, the silk circling her hips like cake
frosting puckered by the steadiest
hand, completely out of place amongst the gravel
voiced tourists, hands dappled
palettes of brass and nickel, our secret yen
for the green-sweet air heralded as sleeping spirit,
turning the tiers of that ruffled pagoda
with breath that delivers a prayer if we wait.