within her the secrets of white lotus. I consider
her smooth gestures,
each a graceful unfolding. But I am
a mere observer to such easy
splendor, can only
half imagine such delicacies. They unfold from between
her every phrase...words bearing seeded messages. She knows
no patience for cultivating my unkempt garden,
yet she endures each
misplaced stone I thrown along the path.
A small yellow
weed bent over on a coarse stem, dreaming
of Egypt and night-blooming
bouquets, is domesticated...
welcomed inside a mystery. A sister-daughter
in opaline wonder,
trusted with the divine fragrance of women and flowers.