Earth, builder of beauty,
her plumb line: a still point,
precious center, damp

What I’m composing are
my words: a swathe of heat,
painted deserts, morning musk,
saguaro green.

Upon my lips, misted whispers:
a fog’s low roots, moist glaze,
dawn’s red vine, dappled light,
cypress, corn silk.

I shake my pen
and from its throat spills
night’s ink sac: salt,
stones, spicy stars.

I shake it more: it empties
the imagery; my feelings;
black sand, spears of pine,
a river’s idle yawn.

Earth pushes us from her womb
where an underground gurgle, like a god
blowing into a straw, creates star bubbles,
first breath, birth cry.

Like birds, we build nests, lay eggs,
feel earth buzz in our bones:
a jug of dreams, seasons, necessities.


From ‘Collected Poems 1984–2014’
©2014 all rights reserved

This poem was first published in ‘Eunoia Review (China)’

Editor: Ian Chung


About Dah

"Light is my happiness" Email: "" Google: "dahlusion"
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