A church
and a garden
a brush
and chalky gravel
    My calligraphy -
    the light in my darkness
    black ink on the stone's whiteness -
A graveyard
in the smooth wind
the quiet beauty
of globe amaranths
    My elements -
    water from the shell-shaped fountain
    silky lotus skin unsullied by mud -
When words combine
I can see clearly - crystal clear
through the blur and blood,
clearer than you, my friend,
but what's the use for you?
Your writing mixes up
your elements poisoned yew,
yet you will stand up
                [only to be]
petrified by toxic certainties.