•THE NIGHT MOVES•
It moves
over tunnels and overpasses
swimming pools
and hospitals It moves
with funnels of clouds
and rains like steam engines
on the parched mouth of suburb
and hooded stars
—over insomniacs
hissing coffee pots
slow march of ticking digits
over voices of exiles
bigots zealots
fortune tellers and sleepwalkers
over silos and refineries
glinting
like fabled palaces
It moves
over the decrepitated town’s
shuttered cinema inn
a nature museum
Over
the narrow road to prison
a utopian farm’s
three-legged barn relics
memories finally ownerless—
The night moves
over us too
ensconced
in the catacomb of sleep
in time’s fidelity
•THE OLD SKY•
Christophe the photographer says nothing much happens
beyond the horizon, tilt the camera 1/3 down
to the church steeple, the round village, the wall.
Human is where everything happens, even the dead
languish in the grave behind the clock tower.
Six elders banter on the ledge, almost youthful
when the camera finds them.
•LEAVING THE TALL HOUSE•
1.
Two steins and a small Buddha
a pasta maker, an urn,
a garden of slugs and snails,
cellar crates and letter trays.
Where I go no songs will fill my mouth,
where I go songs will fill my mouth.
2.
The news says meteorite
showers after midnight.
In the pond under a layer of ice
two koi circle.
I lie down, back against the stone.
Shards shatter my night.
3.
It’s a case of nostalgia
meeting savagery. Give them up:
the cups, the bowls, the platters.
The banquet is over and everyone’s gone.
We’ve lived long enough
in the clutter of shadows.
4.
The inspector will be here soon.
The sealant is tight around the trap door,
stairwell clear of cobwebs.
He will not know the times
I dreaded the basement, the dank,
the shine in the crooked light.
5.
All morning the radio plays. Mozart
at first, then Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.
It is no one’s birthday today.
No one’s death either, the full sun is assuring.
Why then do you feel like someone
behind a wall with no ladders.
6.
Where I go songs will fill my mouth,
shards shatter my night.
We’ve lived long enough,
the shine in the crooked light
behind a wall with no ladders.
Let go of everything. Let nothing go.
Image header, "Eclipse" by Cheryl Chan. For more of Chan's work, see http://cherylcphoto.wixsite.com/cherylchan.