I
from a tree’s shade,
i admire bright, blue skies —
sunlight shimmers
II
washer-woman,
sitting at the river’s edge,
envying flow
III
foggy river
its far bank hazy,
a duck quacks
under jungle
creepers, trees, and moss
lost cities wait
one clean edge
of rough chiseled stone
peeks from mound
when we’re gone
something will remain
of us, and not…
Raising my gaze, the world at a distance is softer, its contours green, a luscious green, a green which recalls past Springs. The foreground is rough and rocky, littered with rocks, some dull and others wet and glistening. A creek burbles, I know not from whence it comes. Just as I can’t say who dragged in these smooth rocks and boulders.
i look up
and the world ahead
pulls me forth
I
flat waters
glide wide at the bend,
their might mute
II
boulders stacked
in precarious piles —
yet they stand
III
the palm trees
stand over stone ruins —
upright sentries
IV
a leaning tree
reaches its gnarled, bent trunk
to shade pilgrims
V
strange landscape —
rubble swept into piles
by what hand?