The latest thinking is
to break the pot
after each bowl of tea

scatter wet leaves beyond
the kitchen door

taste fragrance of no going back

As in Iron Goddess of Mercy

in this new scheme of things
trust the back of the mouth:

a tongue recalls what
the hands cannot

here begins ancient memory
of rock and soil

Expect loss from a broken leaf
milk and sugar for the faint of heart

water almost
incidental

Drink what’s provided
while you can

what the pot gives back
is fractured, tasting

only of its own first promise