Zen Tea

Tea · A Gentle Ritual of Return

In the steam, a path appears—
mountains I knew before language,
hands warmed by leaves,
a cup held like a memory.

From misty mountains it drifts with grace,
Gathering sunlight, memory, and rain.
Fire and time weave silence into its veins,
Turning green youth into mellow gold.
In the cup, it blooms again —

Zen Tea