The Petal Sweeper

She gathers white jasmine;

its fragrance sweeps

into the yellow silk of her sari

and the folds of her dark skin.

Swish, swish

The long-needled broom

brushes against the pavement

beneath the pale soles of her bare feet.

Swish, swish

until the stars call her home.

Across from the temple in her lean-to

she hangs her sari

and gazes through the sheer drape

at India’s orange moon.

Swish

the night heat stirs and jasmine enters her

She fingers the cloth

woven from moonlight

and pulls it toward her

sending a shiver through the moon.

- as seen in Bridges