Only 
the white whisker plucked 
from a black cat 
when the new moon tangles 
in willow leaves 
is fine enough 
for the bright eyes and secret mouth 
of Huan Li; 
or has the magic hush of her blue 
brocade coat as she greets me, 
dainty as a field mouse, 
in the dusk; 
or the grace of her arms 
as she fastens her hair 
again 
in the morning. 

(See also picture poem.)

Bio: Charity Everitt