Posing for an Artist

Will you draw me in your way,
seeing me only one side,
like a mirror, not intruding?

The dawning light marches in.
Gradually you add shades
where an underground river
swirls and an exhaling
from next door.

I hear a horse’s clopping
from morning mist,
your eyes rise—
hedge around a flower bed,
dewdrops rolling like pearls.
 

The Path

The door to her room is closed;
there is a whole world there.
 
He knocks on it for the first time
and retreats with a note—
Stranger, how I wish
a star will guide my sailing.

She folds his note into
a paper crane. Night falls. Hung
by strings, he sees its wings
up in the air.

The second time, he leaves
his hat at the door.
A rose fragile and pale inside
dies slowly.

She gathers the petals and mounts
them on her mirror.
The dawn light glows on them
like sun-wheels.

The third time, he brings
a long white scarf—
waves from an open ocean.
In silence, the door opens.

Blindfolding each other,
they enter the room.