(Draft One)
… shape of those bent shoulders
and the entire body language
speaks of resignation
this lady sweeping leaves away
under a weeping tree
as tourists by the hundred
walk past her, not noticing her,
staring at fading buildings,
weathered sculptures of wood and stone.
She is breathing on earth
the same air as they, but
working now, sweeping leaves …
Holy holy holy her autumn breath,
holy her work among the trees,
holy her head more than ceilings of temples,
her arms more holy than a winding dragon,
her visage than the warrior’s metal face.
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