Moving-Flower Soup

Tonight in crisp twilight
The gardens hold on.

Delightful windy devils stir madly
Chin-out
Helter skelter
Smooth-riding
Spinning summer leaf decay

Frogs burrow into deep cold
Black fragrant mud
Come to rest

Sweep down on me!
sitting on raw stone pathway
my fingertips break the chilly mirror upon which water lilies ride proudly

Smiling I paint rough stones with pond soup,
thick with the leftovers of summer