Come, See The True Flowers Of This

Spring Rain Conveyed Under The Trees In Drops.

Don't Imitate Me / We Are Not Two Halves / Of A Muskmelon.

Plunge Deep Enough In Order To See Something That Is Hidden And Glimmering.

Nothing In The Cry Of Cicadas Suggests They Are About To Die

Orchidbreathing Incense Into Butterfly's Wings