red veined plant,
pirouette again for
me on clumps
of sod, while i rest
beneath this tree's shadow
bobbing wife . . .
my in-law's home filled
with water
houses waist
high in water
and your
mother's bed, dampened
with phlegm and lost dreams
winter rain . . .
she calls her lover
a typhoon
where were you
saints of the stained glass
window, when
Christ stepped down from the
cross, treading water?
everywhere
the typhoon's path . . .
flooded homes
buddha stares
past the cries of young
mothers
carrying their babies
through flooded villages
villagers
stand in line for hours . . .
waiting
how can we
sleep in a fish bowl
of water;
the whining of wind,
the laughter of trees?
typhoon,
control your temper . . .
sweep our words
you stare
through bamboo slits
at white men
floating past you
in metal dragons
the rumble
of dragons passing
through winter
robert d. wilson
©2009
