village

Teeming with water
mist against boulder, swirling
resolute
steaming

It's a strange chase.
Laughing children far away
skin to water, those eyes
mirrored perfectly
onyx on porcelain
wet on cold.

There's nothing else to tell
but for the old man peering
with nothing good in his heart.

Gardens full of lilies
a white glow
cool
in the summer heat
some say lilies for death
others appear inevitably
after the rains
rising up in pink
five slender petals sway,
nodding assent to their short life

Time passes
absent some new life
if only that love
could be so easy
just once
needing no words, no flesh
to survive even the deepest of snows
hoping to peek only once more
at another life beyond

The most perfect
cannot be other than nothing
it simply is
or not

Not much is.
You should know that
Of course you do.
Maybe for you prending is fun
Us we find it necessary.

Like the Russian steppe travelled in caravan
so many pilgrims lost
so much busyness
a leery familiarity
a netherworld strangeness
knowing
somewhere in space
we've been here too.

I know you say
impossible
It never happened
never was.
You don't believe us
It's not the first time.

Prayer wheels, toothless smiles
of women
always the women
the rest are disappeared
but where?

The men they ran
grabbed their entitlement
all a girl is good for
they took her and ran
innocents snatched
they ran trampling the garden
smashing lilies underfoot
unable to stand any beauty
anathema to their distortions
Pigtails shorn, bonnets smashed
all thrown in the fire
burning the remnants
whatever's left.

And then they run.

Flat brown rivers, frozen steppes
this time is different,
not as a stranger but one of them
not any better
but with manhood proven.

They stole his innocence
He has only just returned the favor.

And then they run.