Joanna M. Weston

Under Painted Skies (Haibun)

Faces and limbs of plump angels frolic across the
ceiling of St. Peter’s. I stand, head-back, then
sit down, overwhelmed by brilliant blues and reds,
the height of pillars and statues. A group of
tourists stand to one side, listening to their
tour-guide. They focus cameras and click north,
south, east, and west. I, and the white-haired man
asleep on the chair in front of me, will be shown
on film in China.

his slow breathing
in rhythm
with my own

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