are a gift.
wake, no crease, feel
the vibrations of centuries at
your feet. the silk road courses
through our blood, detours
through the present, flows
into the delta of history. you are
not an acquisition. do you hear the crown
drop with your name on it? the drums?
and close, the moon reconquers its
empire, these droopy cherry
petals drench 1945. lay to
rest this millennium dance, beauty
is in the beholder
of the eye.