• POETRY •
“Last night’s rain makes me sail in my wooden shoes.”
– Wang Wei, “Things in a Spring Garden”
Noon sun. The spring grass becomes its own canvas sea.
Lakeside homes in the distance stationary ships.
I walk around the prairie trail with hands above the goldenrod skeletons
dreaming of the coming honey emerald buds.
Eagles in the oaks, slow heart beats, sit on limbs
that must have been strokes by a dipped black pen a hundred years ago.
So long before I walked onto the page.