On the jade-colored plate, yellow fruit.
Between the window and folding screen, a bed, some clothing.
In the stillness of the forest, water flowing.
On the mountainside, plum blossoms.
In the rain and mud, wild horses.
From a bowl in the hermit’s shelter, steam rising.
In the iron stove, embers glowing.
At the edge of August, all that I am.
C.M. Rivers 