POPPY

At first, memory’s origami

hanging from a waterside porch

open to a stranger’s gaze.

Then it melds to a farewell

strummed on the guzheng,

as if a feather parted from one wing

found the singer’s limpid heart,

the music rippling

like a sudden butterfly bears up the spirit.

Endless blood, a furious purity

about to split open.