Leaving Taichung Station

 Autumn, Blue as October Breath

The spine of the sky swagging over cloud and tail, your undoing

reminded fractures that shadow burn scorched grown 

the unevening of the tilted land or after, the curtain of blackened grass, remains

a person lit afire in the greening dust and gold-flecked soil,

once a body print left marking the ground 

This unending algebra, the grammar of lost teeth and nibbled-none bone

blackening the earth underneath

Is this what the earth has come to?

Is it the sky’s fault or our telling yells. 

Make it rise.

You autumn blue as October breath

what are we, if not those kids laughing on the stairs, regardless of their pivoting.

Our unfailing as pages of a long due novel,

our un-all

and what if the timed turn,

what we endure, of lines of light and lifted sorrow

if nothing else, what then?

Gobbling and sea-green, and you.