I pass the public bench

POND SONG 3.60

Opening the untouchable enclosure of shut-in selving is like a death, though sometimes the death is unnoticed, like a gentle wooing, and imperceptibly one comes alive again. G&B 223

 

I pass the public bench__neat stack of clothes under it

the bench itself empty__the mud’s hot glare and rapid

 

rippling of the neap tide__a flapping egret spins

in stenciling sun (Matisse)__and that only begins

 

to make sense as wen__Tu Fu mind reflects

the meandering of the flow__there are no subtexts

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s