Rake the gravel precisely, then
scatter a few cherry blossoms on top 
of the parallel lines.  Remind yourself
that this is life—raking, arranging,
attempting the perfect, in vain.
The flowers will drop, despite
all your efforts.  Learn to love
the chipped paint, the rusted hinge.
Let the fallen fencepost go
unmended.  Let these remind you
to love your graying hair, 
the constellations of liver spots
on the backs of your hands, how
your face is just a memory
of mother’s eyes, father’s jaw.
Know that everything
is a rolling wave, rattling pebbles,
shaping sand.  Drink tea
like a master.