Friday, March 25, 2011

Our Garden At Night

Come and visit our garden at night,

when only the spirits abound.

The night sounds,

the quarter falls quiet,

the geckos call; the soft insects crawl.

Here all silence is:

the bare stillness

the light on a wall
 grasping bird of paradise.

Immobile all.

Leaves, wind, the barest wisp of cloud

in full moon’s glow;

the spirits call silent

as deadly as the night.

We are lost, wayward,

east of the Mekong;

look no further

and you will find us

with the spirits rejoicing.

Pull aside a awkward leaf

spread the vegetation to the side

and reveal now the spirit house

its full moon offerings

eaten by insects:

prowlers of the noonday sun.

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