Winter sunrise —
summer mountains turn gold
on the hanging scroll
Who are you?
the mirror
never stops
Eight a.m.
the eyes of the housefly
already on me
You lead
I'll follow
butterfly
Turning the compost
and into it
my shadow
No wine
I let the moon
fill my glass
A bath under the stars
all burdens
to the breeze
New robe
way too large
for these bones
Pink sunrise
—bush cherry
in full bloom
All morning
wander the cosmos
without leaving the garden
Endless ambition
the petals
scatter
Inflation
too poor to leave
too poor to stay
__________________
John Brandi
from The Rain Sweeps Through
Empty Bowl, 2023
