Standing Tall

In the wide sweep of raked sand,

patterns flow like waves without sea,

spirals drawn by a hand now vanished.

Silence lingers, tender as breath.

At the garden’s center, a single sunflower rises,

its golden face turned toward the endless sky.

It blooms without witness,

yet the whole world leans into its radiance.

Beyond, on the hillside, a temple rests—

timbers darkened by years, rooflines

catching the first blush of light.

It does not call attention, only abides.

The garden does not ask for fullness.

One flower, one hill, one temple,

enough to hold all seasons.

Stillness gathers, then dissolves,

and the sunflower keeps standing tall.