by Keiko Shibata, Contributing Editor

sweet and delicate lotus

the fragrance dances in the air

like the voice of a single shakuhachi

the bamboo flute sings in a garden

a haunting scent-laden instinct 

words spoken of a flowered wish

the folding and unfolding of petals

 a tongue licks the ashes

indulgence has many colors

I adjust the skirt of my blossoming

desire is a whisper

the ground trembles underneath

I walk upon ageless quaking

straining to hear the mysterious

the flute of the unknown.