Lake of Dragons

Right on the other side of the lake,
where the big stilt tree almost
falls into the water,
he was standing.

The pearl in his hand
shimmered silky soft.
It slipped out of his fingers
and fell on the ground.

If it had fallen into a bloom,
he said quietly,
it would be full of pollen
and smell good.

If it had fallen into honey,
it would be sticky
but taste very sweet.

Even if it had fallen into the damp
dirt of the blank, enclosed by it,
it would become hard and encrusted.

But it had fallen into the dust
of a cold spring morning
and it took not much to clean it
with the clear water of the lake
until it shimmered softly again.

Because a pearl remains a pearl
wherever it may fall.

And you remain you whatever may happen.
And the clearness of love purifies everything.

If only one is willing.