Free
Verse
The
Witness
The bitter
gourd vine
climbs to the sky
unfurls its tendrils
to drifts of mists.
You’re now a wraith
I meet only in dreams.
So I’ve built chambers
with double bar-doors
and yet you limber
in this in-between place
where night and day
are mere markings
on a clock face.
Over the iced river
the old cantilever bridge rises and falls
to the dust of bunioned-feet pilgrims.
The clicking-clacking of their prayer beads,
the flapping-slapping of faded prayer flags
are the sole mantras I now offer,
and this full moon, as many others
before her, is my witness.
Status quo in the Sky
Tonight, the
status quo in the sky—
Venus trails the waning moon in the east,
low in the west Scorpio's tail swings.
If you could remap
the astral universe
how would it be?
Would you emboss red Mars
with life-giving moss?
Could you stall
Scorpio's relentless pursuit of Orion?
Would you renew our tired earth
with new light from Saturn's rings?
Could you play tunes
from nebulous Neptune?
How would you
soothe this un-sleeping mind?
The
Ultramarine Door
Beyond the
ochre fields
across the old stone bridge
beside a brambled stream—
an ultramarine door.
Unwarped, unwormed
its sheen strong under
an iced January sky.
Around it
battened mud walls
seep odours of space
where no one breathed.
Undisturbed earth
enfolds
a silence of voices
silenced beyond echo
in mute oneness
with the black sun.
