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.