Her cloak of sapphire stars
She leaves at the garden gate.
Her scarf of violet dreams
Covered with bits of leaves,
Trails through the naked bushes.

Burrs and frozen berries
In her tresses,
A dress
Of twigs and trailing vines,
A forehead
White with frost,
She passes through the garden
In the nightshade.

Her footsteps fall
Beside the covered fountain,
The empty pots,
Stakes stacked on a garden bench.
The leaves rustle along the walks,
A wind chime tinkles.
The thorny canes of roses stand guard,
Sentinels in the moonlight.

On her knees
With frozen fingers,
She searches for she know not what,
Shakes the seeds from dried pods,
Digs among the roots,
Moves garden stones.

What is the vapor of her breath?
What lies in the recesses of her soul?

What will she find
As the moon so coldly shines
In the quiet light
Reflected in the night?