snowy curtains billow in open-windowed rooms.
I stroll through glittering lobbies,
an adept of opium dreams.
deliciously dining alone,
I'm chanting the a la carte sutra.
waitresses shimmer, embroidered silk,
discreetly attending to buddha.
seaforths, widows, farmers at last
in the heaven glimpsed on wintry sundays.
we amble together through the warm city night,
a generous, expansive host,
an invisible entourage.