An orchid in a deep forest sends out its fragrance even if no one is around to appreciate it.
When speech comes from a quiet heart, it has the strength of the orchid, and the fragrance of rock.
Just as I wonder
whether it's going to die,
the orchid blossoms
and I can't explain why it
moves my heart, why such pleasure
comes from one small bud
on a long spindly stem, one
blood red gold flower
opening at mid-summer,
tiny, perfect in its hour.