Sunday before lunch


Poor sleep last night. I woke early and wrote this poem.

Plum blossom
storms my brain,
that’s how it starts.
I think vaguely of Buddha,
all that time thinking –
a clear surface and
no attachment.
But, my thoughts
turn to you –
to loss and mending.
And, I notice
the sun is shining –
weaving and dancing.
A resting place,
for my thoughts.

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