A SHORT SCROLL OF MOUNTAINS AND WATERS

This “clear glass” moon’s

my real body,

this calm lake untouched,

shadows of swaying pines.

Moonlight blurs the mountaintops

but conveys an expanse of rooftiles

and loose-wattled fences

murmuring ancient ways.

Slow decline amid tradition,

these offerings spellbound

as winter’s grand simplicity,

spare brushwork across barren earth,

a shared vein.

Plain flagstones,

paths of old enchantment;

we’ve not lost the damp wilderness.

Pines along the ridgeline

quiet the clamor of the streets.

Beside a hog shed and the redbrick wall,

beneath the leaves of a chinaberry tree,

hired men dine.