She craves white worlds. Plows kireji and kigo through papered snow, rains cherry blossoms down on to our parchment feet with a delicate hand. Listens to trees. Asks the breeze to remind her she is a samurai warrior of words, a wielder of word swords, a brandisher of memories, even as those of someone she loves are fading. She blooms, and sometimes falls, petaled still in grief, and growing. Calls out to nature in two tongues, tastes it in full. Serves it in vast feasts and delicious bite-sized plates. We, hungry for more, follow her – and inhale the earth.
waning moon reflects
the blossomed beauty of now –
Abhra over at dVerse has us being poetical secret admirers of each other.
I hope to write a ton of these. Most of you will guess who this beauty is.