Sand into liquid into glass,
air pockets emptied,
smooth and clear,
hardened in the air
in the still laboratory,
and then into the store,
and then into my hands,
and then the glass
holds a warm oolong tea,
I blink into the steam,
inhale the earthy fragrance,
sip and taste,
and slowly swallow,
and look across at her
so smoky and opaque,
so hidden and vain,
such a chameleon...
I look down, the tea,
the perfect glass.
I look over, the woman,
the perfect face,
and I make my choice
of beauty and truth,
tell her it’s all over,
the choice is plain,
alchemy and tea, this
I understand and trust.
