I might have sensed your first laugh
at a lantern festival
when yellow threads of light
flickered the reflection
of a distant shore in your eyes.
I might have brushed by your shoulder
while you tamed your flute in the woods;
and in that frequency, I also heard
the faint tappings of a drum
spread across a mossy rock.
It must be in this fleeting moment
that bits of our lineage crossed
as we watch snowflakes
soften underneath the moon
making space for plum blossoms to bloom.