All day, dust lands on Hubei
The center of China is mud
He sits by a field of lotus stalks
Where a whole lake disappears to haze
He walks to The Long River in the rain
Where a man curls up under the army pier
He ponders through a museum
Where a dynasty fell
All day, his words finger the air
To see if they can live
And as the day deepens, he begins to sing
Tonight, in his poem, there is more space
Photo: Entrance and parking lot of a new museum, Shandong, China
Text: 'The Center', written for a friend from Wuhan
2 comments:
A poet emailed to say: "enjoyed your poem on the blog today"
another poet-friend, in Beijing, relishes these words:
"All day, his words finger the air
To see if they can live"...
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