When I sleep,
I see a high road.
My form floats
from a dreams body,
following a sweet dizziness.
Past sheaths of yellow
and blue stars, I praise
whatever I pass.
Russian rhymes,
Muslim prayers and the
magic of the Tang poets.
And all dance before me.
Though I was a man,
I found it hard to die.
As if nothing would
happen to me.
And nothing did….

Within those open doors,
in light….
The temple bells
and clapping hands –
once drowned in a roar.
Can now heard….
The old stains…..
Dickinson and Bukowski…
Akhmatova and Mayakovsky.
The ghosts I picked up again,
by the breath of the river.

Reunion

Do you you think
the dead come at night?
Or burn repeatedly,
as the sun lights
the rest of the world.
I think they come at night,
slumbering around –
as darkness meets darkness.
And illuminate those that
are torn, and those that survive
being burnt by the sun

Wildgrass overrides
the world’s kindness.
Honed and smooth stones,
waving their hands.
The years of life
have passed them by.
And in the far seas,
a chance again of
discovering new
islands of spice.
In that moment,
we are the best of lovers,
truly – the second time around.

All I did was walk
near Beihu Park.
Nature and life
amazes me.
Getting lost,
and you
finding me.
Against the sky,
I heard your voice.
And flew
like Peter Pan.
Far enough to
seal the dream.

I sing to myself,
like a wet bird.
Driving away sorrow,
and dreaming a
thousand year dream.
Running, maybe to you.
And into the black
bowls of your eyes.

All the day
the letters danced,
and I can only eat
my thoughts.
In the parks,
the swings are empty –
but still swinging.
There is no place here,
for fire and the skin.
Such is the great absence,
of a song to sing.

It started with flowers,
and birthday wishes,
a garden in a winter of glass.
Then I became, Steve McQueen
in the great escape –
covered with sight
and the emotions
of the great bards.
Later still, milk tea
and the rain came.
But you breathed for me –
and asked how the air
pulses so much.
In this mommet,
there was no passage
of darkness – all the life,
is my life.

We love things that dissappear,
all that nostalgia – and
water wars with the sand lakes.
Already, the sky has less sound –
and almost no thoughts.
Only foul language
and two lines of blood.
Even the dimmest sunrise,
still leans towards the dark.

And yet, I walk as if I was another.
A small creature of memory.
And this is light for me.
For all things soundless,
and rehearsed – have an end.
A thin line that fades.
The remnants of a brooding peek.

What secret lies in the rain,
for ever dazzling the eyes.
A thick coil, resilient
and strong – willed to
live on this earth.
A soul decreed upon us,
with stars all around.
Ragged and torn,
but always slicing the sky.
And it will be again,
a sun at day.
The people of Zhengzhou.