As we throw a bucket
in a bottomless well,
our perfect self
is awaiting us,

as we pull the bucket out
full of water and soil,
our perfect self
is awaiting us,

as we gulp dirty water
looking at the clear sky,
our perfect self
is awaiting us –

like a fitful image never
permitted to stay

on the face of a pond
stirred
by flowers that fall

from the tall
almond trees
rapidly losing bloom –

they shed
their petalled tears
and don't know for whom.