nested
in the mountain's shoulder
there is a rose gem
A fat, red-breasted robin had come to examine us: two human beings, sitting amongst dead leaves. Un-stirring. The wind could not reach this corner of the world, and the view before us was still and glassy...
Framed by bare boughs, a pink temple of the Madonna was slowly being illuminated in the morning sunshine. Where the light touched the walls, they burnt with white fire.
I relished the stillness,
the deep morning silence
of stone in the courtyard
bone in the cold ground
leafless tree branch
making no sound.
