My feet want to walk up the mildewy steps of Wudang

hidden in its quiet existence between the giant sylvan molehills of the gods,
a mandolin, unobserved, bows its sweet Eastern tune
eternal in all its twanginess,
a stone square dotted with the white silk robes of ones early and late in time
performing tai chi,
two come down steps from higher places with the wood strung roots of tonight’s soup

I see the warm face of a lao taitai,
crow-eyed from almost a century of smiling,
dunking modest clothes into a flat bucket on her lap,
releasing the chime of water disturbed

A sough mist caresses the risen fingertips of the robes
hands morph into lotus as though to absorb the chi of passing wind spirits,
laughter of missing milk teeth echo in a room with no furniture,
behind me the powerful snap of an intruding flash onto film is let off
the silence disturbed into a microcosm of heightened stillness,
but just as unsettlement rose, so too did the mute hush of the still
sending the megapixels off and out of this place

The eyes of a temple sage sweep over this damp world below,
tracing the dynastical insignia of ages not too long lived
adorning the carved arches of an ancient architect,
in his eyes is not the understanding of buzzing chats and likes
ornate by no grasping of the utter noisiness of life eluding the here,
the circling of black dotted with white and white dotted with black
yin and yang
the ray of harmony that garnishes this being
a gift for the ignorance of less wisdom

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Apprentice Editor: Jamie Khoo/Editor: Travis May

Photo: Roy Cheung/Pixoto