The year of the snake sheds its pink skin
Scraping the mountain.
Everything can be seen again.
The needs of the dirt,
The thirsts of mushrooms
For what is past
Green the valleys -- the pear blossoms
Offer birth and mourning
As they wait for
The most cerise hue to bloom,
The one that is
Fading now,
And we send more punts over the water
Because we sent so many already,
Spent so much on grief.
Dark clouds affix to the sky
Like a vision board, creating such beauty
Out of mystery.
We're supposed to let go
Though every fiber in our being
Says not to.
