a migrating flock of white birds south
in nonchalant formation high
across a twilighted Taichung sky
as fruit bats do the loop-de-loo
hunting gnats at water view
over the swirling bended Han
flowing westward through the city
under a colored neon span
bridging the wash where the temple stands
annexing a new zone of projects
where one day may i pass
swallowing bugs with no mask
or Thai massage my aching bone
in memory of a sun down low
magenta darkened seething clouds
on my knee with exile freedom
crackling chicharrones, an empty canteen
who can refill my dream?
who can hear my scream?
only the bats winging back to their nests
know the thrill of going home
after sunsets
October 10, 2019
Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment