Chinatown, New York

A nose for paradox
Made me read Chuang-Tsu
On a late autumn afternoon
In Washington Square—

From his butterfly dream
I too emerged with wings,
A flowing gown of red and green,
A taste for wet fingertips.

I wafted down Mott Street—
Bees in my hair,
Pollen on my tongue,
Rain coiling in my eyes.

From your curious castle, heavy,
In a bowl hammered out of lapis lazuli,
You gave me thick soup
Cooked in the entrails of a fatted fish.

In it, strands of the Milky Way
Welcoming, cradling me
From the sluggish approach of
Snow, heating bills, a fading lover.

Posted June 30, 2010

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