There is nothing else I ask.

but white tea.

a quiet joy,

perhaps the wind,

perhaps you.

I wait for a flower

to fall softly into my heart.

for the days to grow gentle,

for an evening

to lay my worries down.

Then I know—

Qing Huan is not far away.

It is someone still beside me,

and a heart still willing to believe

my life ready to bloom again.