There must be something
upon the hill.
When new moon whispers to shadows,
trees stretch each limb,
and owls halt.
There must be something
in the breeze.
When Misty May breathes fragrance,
windows half-open,
sunrays shed gold.
There must be something
on the beach.
When sunset dips down the skyline,
tide spreads white skirts,
sand embraces our footprints.
There must be something
beneath the snow.
When quiet dominates mountains,
squirrels clutch pinecones,
I watch you from a distance.
(from Wings Toward Sunlight, also appeared on Canadian Immigrant Magazine & ChinaDaily Newspaper)
