Don't imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest.
How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
Go to the object. Leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Do not impose yourself on the object. Become one with the object. Plunge deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there.
A flute with no holes is not a flute.