Long ago, someone
told me: avoid or.

The heart’s reasons
seen clearly,
even the hardest

The windows stream with fish,
the gold luck of carp,
the tiny silver luck of minnows,
while the earth gives back her wealth

For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river—
Unbearable pain becomes its own cure.

Travel far enough into sorrow, tears turn to sighing;

These mail-ordered tulips,
shockingly gaudy,
open and close, re-open, re-close,

Here, where the rivers dredge up
the very stone of Heaven, we name its colors—
muttonfat jade, kingfisher jade, jade of appleskin green.

Again the wind
flakes gold-leaf from the trees
and the painting darkens—

It is not this world, then, to blame, with its red
and blue stars, yellow pears, green apples
that carry a scent which can move you to tears.