I believe in you, O tidal
mouth, where the salt
meets the stream.

I never had any God
to put the fish in desert to swim,
and someone can write a poem.

I am not different
beyond the unwritten
miracles. I cannot undo a cliché.

It is still my dharma ―
to listen to unheard cosmic
chants of blue birds.

And I reached the emptiness
of a vessel, which had
spilled over the milk of seeds.