I Return to Deer Park
(After Wang Wei)
The market is shuttered and locked for the night;
No cry of "ripe persimmons, fresh for supper;"
only the scurry of rats, a sudden rain.
The road to the hill village is deserted.
Thunder over black peaks reverberates;
I imagine mountains ring with laughter.
Remember evening's light beside the stream
as we waited beneath damp cedar fronds
and empty nests for the day to end.
Smoke drifted east as the sun returned
to illuminate mounds of moss and toadstools;
you and I unaware the light reflected green.
Crickets sang of peaches and mahogany;
remember the wasps were quiet.
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Issue 1 ready to read. Poets for Peace.... ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
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