Evergreen ponds of mint,
Circulating everchanging scents of space.

The busy-bustling bees of the scorching sun,
Their ebony and mustard bodies catching the eye,
The sweet-seeping smell of fresh honey harvest.

Tangible scent of spring touched grass and moss,
Carried on the arms of wise wind,
To encrust the mind and body's senses.

Continuous dance of trickling-trickles,
Born from that same stream,
Of August warmed water,
Clear as your gray eye's shadow.

Do you remember...
That night of an August full moon?
When we bathed in that same stream,
Our naked bodies silver under the moon's touch.
That August moon,
We shared our dreams and desires,
My fingerips wrote poetry on your skin,
Your lips spun silk against my cheeks.

That night,
So long ago,
Now feels like only yesterday...

Can you still remember that night?
My fingertips?
Your lips?

Though the deep ocean is your new home,
The jelly and dolphins your new companions,
The growing coral your new body,
Can you still remember?

I believe you can,
I hope you can,
But just incase,
The undulate movement of the ocean,
Has washed away your memory...
This flower is for you!
It is a wild scotchbroom,
Mustard yellow, like the bees of the scorching sun.
It is my wish that the ripples of the flower,
Once touching the water's surface,
Will reach your ears,
And echo the memory to you.

That night of the August full moon,
When we bathed in that same stream,
Our naked bodies silver under the moon's touch...