Alone, (after
Wang Wei)
the brushwood door behind.
I watch the brilliance fall.
Pine trees gossip with cranes
nesting for the night.
Few men visit now.
The wicker gate is silent.
Bamboo cradles its new powder,
lotuses shed their red robes.
You can see the lanterns rising-
jewels for the ford.
A call to chestnut pickers everywhere:
Come home.
By NLMcD
