The city’s distant glimmers below
sparkle through
         its intimate dust,
as diamonds without their microscopes
to naked eyes
        seem close enough.
As always, water weaves
toward equilibrium
down each green
          step of rice,
the river in trickling pieces
tickling the wanderer’s ears.
Barefoot children with bamboo baskets

dream of a thousand elsewheres
rumored from their rough-tuned radios.
They balance thin spaces
between level
        and low,
immune to routine
and imminent beauty.