Remains (A Poem from 'Wounded Bud')

 

Of your mother and father
all that remains

is you.

Of the bee and flower
just honey.

Of the master and disciple only

a quivering white stream

pouring from bowl to cup.

Why ask if there are
one or two?

Compare us, my beauty,
to melting snow.

Give up perfection.
Take up laughter and tears.

Drown in what you are.