Chinese Brandy
(for Mary)
A company of cicadas
make their entry on cue,
chatting with the slow surge
of wind music – pushing in
small waves over the surface
of oak leaves whispering
like Cantonese chimes.
It’s as good a place as any
to wash up—the last light
she’ll ever see shoots through
a backroom window with a soft
landing on pressed white linen.
Just before dusk, Doctor Todd
places the tiny celestial hand
back by her side—he stares
grimly through a clear portal
at a disappearing sun below
evening’s bloodshot horizon .
©️Orion Foote
Visions of Orion Poetry 