A Sheaf of Pleasant Voices

There are rooftops

made of cloud remnants

gathered by a trader

dabbling in car parts and burlap

At night, I dive onto the breeze

fermenting above the dirt

and dream that I am a crocodile

a tin of shoe polish, an audience of two

In the morning, before the smallest yawn

becomes a noodle, I am offered

a ribbon of yellow smoke

I opt for fuzzy rocks and clawed water

and, of course, the perishable window

I am one of the last computer

chain errors to be illuminated

I tell you there are rooftops

on which the moon stops

being a cold jewel

And one by one the mountains

begin their descent from

the chambers of a lost book

Copyright Credit: John Yau, “A Sheaf of Pleasant Voices” from Paradiso Diaspora. Copyright © 2006 by John Yau. Reprinted by permission of the author.

Source: Paradiso Diaspora (Penguin Books, 2006)