Confessions of a Chinese Hermit

We imagine it is labor to pull the sun across the sky,
We pretend our hands are responsible for what comes out of the soil
When it's impossible for me not to love them,
these peppers...
Their lacquered curves and vibrant colors,
Their secret heat that makes life sweeter.

My uncle thinks I'm a fool
For leaving what I don't need on this simple table to share
With people who are too busy to even stop and see what they are.

They rot away slowly, and I return them gently to the dirt,
Grateful that the invisible finds them nourishing.

And just as my love returns in beginning all over again,
Their shapes return, this time richer and more sublime.
I love them so, I sometimes think my love has grown them,

But all I've done is share with them my trowels and my water,
And have listened in their silence for the things they cannot say.

They ask of me so little, that I forget the rest of my life.