even if the river runs dry
the wedge through Taichung lingers on
even if they landfill it with investor condos
the old-timers know not to live there
even if i choose a new place to write
oldies but goodies won't suffice
a pair of fresh eyes will see it anew
feel or smell it instead of writing it
or churn its water into different literature
but i cannot move on
i have not found another place to grow
and i will not turn back
become sentimental or publish a book
to stay forever in the Tao
peel the layers thin off the smoggy mountain
filling me to the brim cannot happen
God extends passed my top
fencing me in cannot happen
workers of the world recognize no borders
ears hear the ping-pong stereo of bird calls
in a sound ecological system
hi-def wide-screen insects passing
wisps of make-a-wish dandelions
the Han she rolls from mountain streams
where reality resembles dreams
there a first poem never was
and last Han poems will never be
4-24-14
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