I've an old

dragon - lacquer box in which

I put everything

that I have ever lost. The holy

jade that disappeared.

Other dragons. One or two tiny

black pearls. Ancestors.

A grove of English oak trees.

Most of the rain forest,

And many, many more dragons.

I have a black, orange

dragon box. There is nothing

in the box. But when I

opened it I saw a orange black

drunken butterfly.

The dragon's mouth is open, black

and empty still. Until

the earth shook and from the fissure

another dragon emerged.

Above, in rolling air, a Monarch

fluttering drunkenly.

Round in its mouth a golden ball

bloomed, a spring issued,

a tree fell, a world spun, all we know

as threads of silk rewove

into a new fabric from the remanents.