Kite string

Kite string
lightening sun
leading the way
the winds have come
by the cracked window with freshly washed hair
I see the yard, mother, clearing the clothes line
leafy faces, on well water
out over the fields and flower beds
spring rain on the harvest
dripping down
planet dusk
small talk
after droplet burials
in the flowing stream

Dark eye

I dreamt we walked the paddy fields

Amidst the shells of yellow cars

Silver inscriptions from their authors

Glinting but dulling, with the dipping sun

I break from my travel companions

Pushing forward, caring not to look back

The rainwater has washed the path away

I skip and leap, through I know

My shoes are gone

Down by the wooden grain store

Under its cold wooden rafters, I felt

Trapped on a pillar, the breeze pushing

The only thing holding me down

Your shaded eyes

Ash is the purest white

Cast your hand above the flame

you’ll feel it fade

the warmth seeps away, your fingers cold

the cinders ebb, as the bonfire cools

the night is slow to melt, yet you will it to stay

where no one sees, it is permitted

the forest branches complete their journey

and you may mourn them too

you will remember, how the flame cuts right through

Softly folded

A meteor shower, frozen

asleep on the empty road

I gauge the feeling on my arm, how cold

the pulse of the night wind

give me a homeland

this ancient crooked tree

no one replaces you

give me a homeland

my lips are chilled

dreaming

Isolation

They do not hear me, my voice is hoarse

I look at the mirrors and no one looks back

In the void I am empty, formless

In the silence, you lose your strength,

Your bones will break, your mind burns away

Slipping away, melting in an empty self

I have nothing left to say

Cobweb whiskers

The cat walks past, cobwebs in her whiskers

clearing up the cardboard boxes

I thumb through picture books and socks

I listen close and hear laughter,

from a picture of my sister, who I take after

I fold it away, reach past a button-box,

I remember, every outfit, our stilted talks

so little was said, my sister’s sick bed

her hands as cold as mine