Cold and misty morning,
dentist done, sitting
in the medical centre foyer
reading Chinese poetry,
thirteen centuries, yet
autumn the same, chill
mist upon withered
and fallen dreams.
I think of the landscapes
in old Chinese paintings,
how small the humans cast
among mountains and rivers
of bitter autumn. Few brush
strokes and you have
a human being, all
they are in this chill
world where grief strips
the branches bare.
24.09.2024
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