TrackingWriters

 I sit on a chair made of bamboo reeds
 that wanted to be flutes, just as the flutes would have liked
 to be calm and quiet in a chair. I think about bamboo reeds
 that grow near the water. There's longing everywhere.
 The precision of pain and the blurriness of joy. 

http://www.manzanitavillage.org/articles/amichai.html