Thursday, June 30, 2011

Stone-hard beauty

Returning to the garden,
all passion spent,
tears dried upon her cheeks,
did she perch herself upon a step
or trail a finger in the pond,
ear cocked and listening
for the return of the thrush
while staring unseeing,
at the stone-hard beauty reflected
there, in the water and the grass,
and in the dead gray branch
of the madrona?

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