#penjing

⠀⠀爱

pin made pekoe with the word,
love. a wound, without sound
she breathed it from air
to grave. & in its wake
pin wrapped pekoe with a cloud
fresh from the horizon,
waited as she slept among flora
& fecundity, patiently, until
pekoe’s eyes bloomed open.

｛ ⠀⠀the play ⠀⠀ the eye ⠀⠀ ｝

in penjing, there is a special cricket. memory bugs. they live among white flowers, and only before dawn, in the rain, do they awaken. their chirps sound of tiny bells and a faint—almost inaudible—crying —

the foyer. a sniff brings fragrance of sandalwood and mycelium, curled parchment, and the reminder of dust, though there is none. things not alive, but not un-alive, click and croon within their bearings. pin has dozed away. the plants die when she exhales, then flourish upon inhale. she is unsurprised when her pupils open and you are in them. where does your dream end, and mine begin? she asks, but her mouth never moves.

⠀⠀拂煦

pin made phoebe with the words, bring warmth.
she beheld it on the stem of a match,
infinitesimal, struck it off her fingernail’s crescent —
in an instant phoebe plumed up and took all the blue
along, purpled the sky, reddened the light,
and with the breeze, descended singing
to the ground, to land by pin.

⠀⠀勤勉

pin made genji with the word, diligence.
folded by the temperate shadow of a cliff
she peeled his silhouette from lightlessness,
into time. to finish, pin gave genji a core
and for dimension, hid a koi and a small bell
inside. he awoke slowly but well, sustained
the way a seed negotiates earth.

｛ the lushness of it  ,｝