COUNTRYSIDE WOMAN EMBROIDERING

Winter afternoon, her feet

snug in a grass basket,

late sunlight glimmering the two dragons

she embroiders with gold thread.

On the wall, strung seedstalks;

the big door’s luster of tung oil.

Chill wind shivers the pines;

oh for such cold truth.

A few gourds hang from a wooden rack.

The silk with two dragons

will drape Guanyin’s altar

so this woman may die easy as a leaf.

Outside, the stone path trod forever

extends from her threshold,

its sheen in the dusk

soft as worn silver.

When the breeze lifts,

I desire

only this peace.