Mirage

           When you're sad, steam
from a spoonful of rice turns into
            a hot spring. You peel off
your clothing and walk 
            into the terracotta basin
filled with mountains of laundry.
           The waters glisten like words
you used to know: earth-scented,
           woody, herbaceous. Vines
laden with honeysuckle hold
           their breath, watching 
your progress without comment.

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