A story of echoes
“We are an echo that runs, skittering,
Through a train of rooms.”—Czeslsaw Milosz
iiii
An approach of light, as if a door unlocking a dream
a child squints through the border, cicada shells hum on a tree’s abdomen
a sister excavates a brother’s courtship, love’s detritus unclothed in the backyard
hung like a child’s shoes whistling in the branches, the world’s fear sharpened in music
glue used up in a poem before an uncle even had a chance, in the fall
a wearied shadow leaps off a stone bridge, trout await a new god’s kerplunk
fingers gooey through hair, a widower’s body taken far along pebbled banks
swung-up in the river netting of nylon and words, a story lost in corner store rubble
love’s jacket torn at the shoulder seam, sit honey pie, sit
a story takes off while a fisherman in the low country dredges up death with the shrimp
silt for poetry and the names for a book passed down and sat upon as pillows
amber hazards between country cousins, a miner scrimshaws along the black cave
planks and railing, in a dime store dreams scurry behind a turquoise counter
once that bridge carried more than a man’s body beneath, its bow
the promise of love heft in the shells semicircular canal, a lullaby hung on twigs
and your heart due south of a reckless typhoon, Do lok tin si, remember
a dream, all of it
the black sea’s wing intemperate against the city night, lights falling
vows upturn and swerve, a bat batting hard left from a cave as a player’s heart goes hard
risking life in the curve of a throw, a coin’s wrench clacking in a suit pocket gamble
the songs of the girls in the night, tinker tailor soldier whore
were you there when the sailors stole kisses beneath the green neon
gum stubborn along the molars and hard on the jaw in dawn
ghosts waving 再見 to the hills and darkness, boys asleep on bus seats
tables strung with coins, smoke gets in your eyes folded in the corner
you gambled she was worth the night, did the dragon’s luck rise
the bet, the wheel never fortunes for long when whispers between red and black
dreams snarl behind thin boys' pool cues and cigarettes
color dismounts the sky and turns inward from winter’s wake
a heart unbuttons its pale hue’d whale skin, inside out
biology’s bickering in translation gone awry
language of waking pent up in conversation in the park
the murmur of the Merry-go-round turning, the sweep of air through a child’s hair, vowels
last light lain down in the lane, the night inside out, a dumpling opened with a fork
you shall never see the same light again, an amateur’s mistake
death comes snaking up the stairs, yes ok again, green
but that was long ago when childhood mattered
the storm door in the back opened with unease, a carcass on the black steps leading to the basement, beneath the ground, bee-leaf pollens the windowsill dust and time cupped in yellow flowers, fear in the translucent wings holding the color of stained glass, light the size of thumbnail, wasp bumblebee carpenter ant, red-winged, the queen gone in the night, another carapace another locust shell on a corn husk miraculously, a butterfly awakes at funeral in Jiayi, grandmother died dancing in the burnished clear
once you too were winged by love and labor
the earth grew each time from a wounding, owl feather and canine print paw in the mud
songs swelled in the back of a raven’s throat
a black bird sat on Victoria’s outstretched arm, alabaster in the light
the heart shrivels in its cement casting, La Mer…Confond ses blancs moutons2
but all that was long ago when childhood mattered
moon caught in the bicep of a tree arm, a broken tooth hangs blue in the sky
and love comes undone at the feet of autumnal longing
but we survived
childhood the lines of the future scribbled forever on blue-lined notebooks
I name this ghosting, birth
you
2Charles Trenet
