The soup
is of golden glow.
Waves
break in against the shore,
beancurd puffs are exuding
like doormats on a rainy day.
It is a tropical fiesta.
Coconut breeze from a nearby island
is stealing spicy ripples under sporadic leaves.
Prawns leap
and immediately dive
to join the fish of white flesh.
Sail a boat of egg yolk,
snug as a baby dreaming
of a mythical creature
in her cradle.
By Pamela Ho
