the room is on the 77th floor,
filled with stones:
smooth or rough, sharp or round,
each has an unique character,
as you point out.
Sitting in a bamboo chair, you pour
two cups of green tea,
in silence, this room is an anchored boat.
We raise our cups, slowly
I sip the tea…
with the steam, your eyes hold me
as if the boat sails along
warm waves…
There is no destination, but music
and we float…
Now, my room is full of afternoon sunlight,
not the one that shines in a dark sea,
not the one that you wake up in,
and listen to the silence
and waves…