a temple, peaceful, old and weathered.
moss threatens to overtake the white stone walls
and hiding in the green, springy carpet...
leaves, curled and dry
leaves like hands
rust-red, with spun veins,
off a tree so delicate, it looks like a spider made
this faerie's maze of blushing leaves and ballet branches. water drips off
of every nub and twig,
falls, falls to send shuddering rings out
from the calm surface of a stream, running at the tree's gnarled feet.
water singing its ancient rime to the stones beneath,
all their ferocity gone in centuries of cold fingers smoothing them over,
blue-black
and silent.
here I will expire on a bier of butterflies,
my last warm breath sending my soul to rest
on the right hand of the rabbit in the moon
her deity reflected in the numerous lanterns
yellow as chrysanthemums, floating down the stream.
Riana ~ 1996 ©