My Picture

After Christmas…
too many unsold trees
and damp mornings.
The river goes over and over
the curve of the winter hills.

A fallen oak branch
becomes an AK47
in the hands of the child.
As he watches his mother and father,
argue both sides of the story.
A pale replica of summer days in Jinghua Park.

Looking up,
I can see the rules of punctuation,
with temporary wings.
A contraction of darkness
unfolding the dust of others winters,
one limb at a time.