A woman scatters under a weeping willow
Winds whip the leafless branches
Swirling in endless mishap
Hanging in sorrowful notes and rhyme.
Her face creased like a walnut fallen in flight
Her body crimped in a shell, clinched to the ground
Illusive imagery valid in blurred memories
Remaining thoughts fade in the palms of her hands.
She ignores the warmth of the sun
The golden ripples in the river that stretch far and wide
The windswept of barley bowing to the land below
A flutter of a butterfly that beckons rest at her feet.
Kneading her rosary with her fingers, she’s chanting prayers
She ignores the pain in her muscles and bones
Over and over the vulture repeats his rounds
Steady and silent around the nodding limbs of the willow.
She ignores the laughter and play of children
The passing of people that fetch water from the well
She is anywhere but here
In a journey submitting in mystery and illusion.
© Linda Moon