what the dandelion heard
how about a companion
to pull the weeds with me?
one who will move under sun-kissed skies
on purpose. a well-read companion
who can hold my metaphors in their mouth
like a mother tongue
and recognise the taste.
let ginger hands take me away
to secret places with no morning mist
and let osmanthus eyes
watch my geometries become clean,
my lines become honest.
find me an artisan
of kongming locks and hedge mazes
who fears neither trial nor error
and has five seconds
to spare
on small things.
who can make me—unafraid—!