Tuesday, September 29, 2009

September 29. 2009

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?

the typhoon's path . . .
flooded homes

buddha stares
past the cries of young
carrying their babies
through flooded villages

stand in line for hours . . .

how can we
sleep in a fish bowl
of water;
the whining of wind,
the laughter of trees?

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