Who comes from the southeast
carrying quiet threats?
Who comes from the north
wielding a stone of compassion?
Where I stand in the yard
staking a persimmon sapling,
a lash of wind feels like
the tip of an oncoming army.
Who comes from the east
flapping broad, inky wings?
I hurry without showing my hurry
into the labyrinth of my nest.
My dearest treasure hides as one
crystal in a handful of salt.
I love this, Luisa.
Thank you :)