View From A Tea House

 Sitting in the alcove of the tea house,

lying in the opium den gazing out the window,

music of the Imperial Court thickens the space.

A sparrow or a bat flies outside past the window.

Saw whine harmonizes with ancient flutes and strings…

smell of fresh sawdust recreates antique temple scents.

A dream within a dream…realm within realms.

Creation doesn’t stop at death.

Ripples in the pond are like butterflies’ wings.