June 13, 2017 by petrujviljoen
Cradling a mountain absurdly riddled;
a cry – the autumn wind.
Falling water smelt the sun and bird’s
wild song and graces of deer
and rodents while
jasmine’s budding; yet unseen the
air laced – briefly fragrant –
the mýstery is patient.
glyphs – heralds of the Matriarchy.
There are clouds in the pond. My hand
the dissolving sky – scrolling ripples
brim the edge, slightly