Lapidary curves and bends make this stone flow
on its own, the same way it poured through fissures
in glacial snow, chiseled cold by gods
who fashioned leaves and fruit in its likeness.

Who would not relinquish silly shining heavy gold
to touch instead that light carved jade button which
is a last lock to postpone a love embrace
under which warm curves of a white breast heave.

Less a paperweight than a meditative vacation,
however small, this carved jade mountain
is a philosopher’s repose when he is too close to court
and he craves escape to his tiny green pavilion of shade.

Much more rare than looming dark boulders
pounded by surf on any white foamed beach,
imperial jade looks like a surprisingly large butterfly
about to land on a peony whose stem will bend

from weight of its desire to drink sunlight
and whose flight is more capricious than a kite
high in breezes over a glaze-roofed city
when all children looking up laugh dizzily.