Sharing Tea With A Monk

I tell you there are pieces of heaven
that fall to earth.
They become teashops in Hong Kong.
In one such place, I met a monk.
We shared a pot of pu-er and poetry.
Suddenly, he stood with a start.
“I must go,” he said.
“I must confess my sins to the abbot.”
I asked,” Is your abbot a man, like us?”
He said, “Of course.”
I pushed a spittoon close to his chair.
“Confess into this,” I said.
“It is without sin and much purer inside.”
We laughed until we ached.
We stayed in heaven and watched
the moon rise above Tai Mo Shan.