I think vaguely of Buddha,
sitting under a tree –
wandering why?
And then,
my mind switches –
to chasing the butterflies
on your dress.
As if by magic,
we find ourselves
on a rooftop –
with a quick
and clever wind.
And the way
you looked at me,
with those spies
on the 42nd floor –
watching everything.
The glory, of a Friday
evening in Kaohsiung.