Art is a journey into the most unknown thing of all - oneself. Nobody knows his own frontiers… I don’t think I’d ever want to take a road if I knew where it led.

Louis Kahan
    the rain shower left
imitation pearls…
dewdrops
    weak tea—
every day the butterfly
stops by
    nervously
through the raindrops…
spring butterfly
    opening the window
I see the butterfly off…
into the field
    laid out
at the hearth’s door…
New Year’s herbs
    the garden’s gate
left unlocked…
picking herbs
    my hut
the butterfly’s sleeping place
tonight
    butterfly at the gate—
the child crawls, it flies
crawls, it flies…