THE GINKGO or MAIDENHAIR TREE

Maidens were the spirits of the trees
In Ancient China,
Lifting flowery sleeves,
Out they stepped,
Redolent and adept,
To stroll along the pathways at their ease.

To stroll in conversation with the Priest —
The Taoist Gardener,
Who, by their stiff caprice,
Understood
Goddesses were in wood,
And sought the key to gaining their release.

He searched for years in mystical pursuit,
And gained the secret,
Learning to transmute
From twigs and swirls
The sight of giggling girls,
And painted toes emerging from a root.

Notice that when Ginkgoes are transplanted
To North America,
Their prayers are granted:
Maidens traipse,
Still in treelike shapes,
And lend the streets their presence and enchantment.

DARJEELING

Out of an ordinary pot of tea
The exotic will pour and will reveal —
From vapor and rind, ephemera and peel —
A taste of the ethereal amid the lees.

Swirl the cloudy brew and tip it up,
The sediments of wounds long healed,
Through Time's infusion steeped and congealed,
Settle in the bottom of the cup.

As amber beads release the grains they sealed,
Submission to fire will clarify the stream,
Not melting in the heat, a gem sublimes,
Transmuted instantly from stone to steam.

And in far India, ardent in mime,
A slender girl in training for the dance
Prays to achieve such purity of line —
Steeped in a trance —
That she be transformed to Apsaras divine.