In the morning breath,

a fragment of green—

suspended thought,

a whisper in the void

Colors murmur,

the unseen

gives birth to shape

Her hands, both tender and firm,

a mother’s touch,

sharp as thorns—

tracing forms,

with echoes of forgotten dreams

Within structures and rules,

binding yet comforting—

her teachings carve a path,

a familiar yet demanding embrace,

found amidst the solitude of seeking

Space becomes a canvas,

emptiness, the brush—

shadows challenge,

light offers answers

Her voice, sweet and bitter,

lingers in memory,

Creation and contemplation

weave the unseen thread

Her shadow remains,

carving the intangible—

Ikebana breathes within.

In this circle, I find my way—

seeking a place

where structure becomes home,

and solitude merges with form.