Teahouse in Fog+for Isaiah+How great that you and I are blind+enough to see stars on the ground,+ mirrored from the heavens down,+like the doubled green of lakeside pear trees.+ All grief and history cast away like glitter,+the floating sea bleaches a daisy short of white+ from the stories you and I tell to this world+and the long lost worlds we have yet to find.+ When the fog climbs like song on mountain,+when you and I are the glittering giants—+ raising a secret garden bred by moon,+awe, and a flight of bumblebees—+ abyss is within a brave arm’s reach.+And who sees who, like all things+ forbidden and important,+provokes a tired study in me.+ When Orion comes, with man's every dream+ribboned to the quiver on his back,+ the wind throws her white skirt to the rain,+cleansing the needled skin of fresh prey.+ Wet flute daubles the air so thin the sky falls,+and all at once the stars belong to us.+ If only night walkers dreamed a little louder,+they would have found you and I in patient rain,+ tethered to the edge of something so wild+that love may be a man's only hope.+ How great that you and I are blind,+because others do not, and may never,+ know how easy it is to harvest a storm.+Even your God hums in obedience.+
