Late night in the swamp a lotus flower blooms,
Brightens in the shadow-screen of the doubt
Perfume pervades on the bog of the beggarly
You are flower?
You aren’t flower?
Night turns over two old leaf-blade of lotus
The cracked time
The broken space
Both together hold not to breathe
Suddenly there is…
Suddenly There isn’t…
How do you contrive to be white flower, yellow stamen?