Zone
There's water here, the garden opens
Singing, you wear your red skirt
Summer is a pattern of
flowers on your sash
Days pass
as you turn. Birds
fold their wings ten thousand ways
All this time I'm far from home
Along the road, wheat fields breathe from
their broad lungs, the land
sends out clear noises. All this
time, I'm trying to get across it
Soil circles earth
I've a thousand expressions
to display my yellow face
Wheat fields hum a song
--in the East
There's steel. Highways
cut through what used to be fields
Jazz bleats
in the shadow of high buildings
There, the homeless
find wheat fields in their dreams
At the blast of ten trumpets a new
continent arises and the sea
rolls the passion of sex. In the East
the voice of home
breaks up each day. I cover my face
sobbing among ruins
Still I try to track
the zone I dream of. On my way
seeing my youth, seeing
middle age mounting me
like two sharp and
shiny rib bones
hampering my breath
here on western land
I find that any direction I
walk, every impulse whatever
points clearly, unambiguously
towards--China
Di home page
Biography
Sitting in the sun
The shame of flesh
The passage to heaven
|
