Secret Ingredients
Monks
an ancient copper bell
burnished by the history
of thousands of hands
–
a forest shrine-
autumn mist clings
to the hillside
Safe
lonely red roses
walked off from the outside by
a thicket of thorns
–
the sun
our children at play
in the back yard
Illusions
folding the laundry-
I struggle with the mundane
while fame eludes me
–
feeding the birds-
a passing peacock
opens his tail
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