The shrine within me.

Dew on the blades of grass

shines on my dream lake.

A feather drifts by,

aimless wanderer stop here.

Oh, it is a moth!

The koi opens his mouth,

all the colors of his vest

feed the tourists well.

Bench next to the hedge,

how I long to sleep on it.

Please, stay on the path!

The jets overhead,

the river of cars flows by,

the silence within.

While in the garden,

I think of wine to buy guests

who may never come.

The ground is too full.

The roots of the cedar now

must pierce the surface.

Endless wandering,

door of anticipation,

beauty cleanses all.

The breeze on the face.

The freeway by the garden:

don’t listen to me.

F.E.Walls