the ash plum
A plum was buried in ash through the cold months. Tonight it is unearthed and pressed into the glass. You taste the winter it slept in. You do not ask which winter.
miko.bar
after the eleventh hour, the lamp is lit.
— the ledger —
We keep no register of names. We keep instead the order of the pours: who arrived before the lamp, who waited in the diagonal margin, who left a coin warm on the lacquer.
This is a parlour of measures, not of menus. The maiden tends the still as one tends a small fire — patiently, without explaining the flame.
If the door gave way to you tonight, then you were already counted. Sit. The ice is being cut from cedar.
— the service —
the pour at midnight
The bell rings once. The maiden lifts the still and pours a single measure, no more. The line of liquid is straight as a folded crease. You watch it land. You wait.
the cedar bowl
The cedar bowl is set on the counter at the eleventh hour. You do not ask what is inside. You wait. The wood gives up its scent slowly, the way evening gives up the day.
the salt offering
A small cone of salt stands at the threshold of the lacquer. It is not for the drink. It is for the room. You leave it where it stands. You step past it.
the paper lantern
The lantern is folded from a single sheet, creased eight times. When it is lit, the creases throw a lattice across the counter. You read your hands by it. You say nothing.
the closing rinse
At the last hour the maiden rinses the cup with water drawn at dusk. The cup is dried with a cloth older than the parlour. It is returned to the shelf. The lamp is lowered.
— the almanac —
朧月夜moon-haze night
蜻蛉the dragonfly hour
燭candle's measure
露dew-weight
夜半the deep of night
霜first frost on the sill
蛍火a firefly's lamp
残月the lingering moon
薄氷thin ice, cedar-cut
宵闇dusk's shut door
霧the slow grey breath
灯the lit thing, kept
miko.bar is closed unless you are already inside.
MMXXVI