Thursday, April 07, 2005

Stolen from Li Po for Debbie

Yes, let's meet, the three
of us--this jug, my shadow,
and you--in the time of bruised
lilacs. My shadow, you, and me
in the closest constellation
to the eastern horizon.
Your shadow, baskets of lilacs,
this hollow jug finding me
under brightening stars.
How we will know each other's
thoughts in the deep, felt silence.
Friend of mine, this parting
goes hard, like the swollen
stream drunk-tossed among the rock-
blades in the onslaught
of spring's brassy sexuality
holding to reeds the river sped over.

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