A very deep way to serve
your nation, your land, your
ancestor's warrior spirit,
is to muster up some courage
and let a glittering stream flow
down from the silent mountain
in your heart,
washing every passer-by,
especially the ones with
open wounds.
Don't blame anyone for
Be more like a peony
that blossoms after rain, in
morning sunbeams.
She doesn't look for
the gardener or the gazer
most worthy to behold
her hidden treasures.
She just drowns every bee, warbler,
mongrel stray and hyperactive
boy on a stolen bicycle, each
strange and distant star
whose light will not reach us for
a thousand years, in her
diamond-scented invitation
to forgive.

Photo: a peony on my dining room table