Sidetracks V

the eyes of the daughters and sons of the river are shining

wilderness    dazzling sunlight polishes the surface of the lake

remembrances and bullets share this century

mail trucks tumble along    into the hour of  lamplight

prisoners dance in concentric circles of moonlight

anxious stones pile up into mountains

assault troops storm through the gates of the city’s memories

tightening the toy’s rusted mechanism

licking the wounds of first love    sprinkle a little salt

let the two crickets fight in the innermost heart

fruit pit    spit out the secret of birth

erase the comet tail on the blackboard

the eyes of a cat chase after the festival of flowing water

I ride the wooden horse of a carousel lost in thought

windmills    churn thick clouds in the sky

more people join the refugees’ routes

their languages create countless colors

arise from the masks in the museum of  humankind

cooking smoke blends the hues of the blue twilight

a priest prays in the shadow of a candle flame

God lashes the city with lightning

O wanderer of the worn world

folded within time along the horizon

forest trees    breathe thoughts

dropped into a mailbox in an unfamiliar town

the shadow of death takes flight on the road

a perfect plate    handcrafted artistry

breaks free at last from the essence of things

waking up    in the garret of the small hotel

curtains flutter    clear skies turn to clouds

in the oil painting of the harbor    no sails

below the castle    the din of the world

surrounded by light and flags

on the back of a picture postcard

Chinese characters are the first informant

northward    leads to a solitary pass

how long is the tape reel of the deep night

measuring the variable weather maps

lovers climb through the balcony window

on the table    the fruit is ripening

joining the ranks of insomniacs—

winter flashes a smile

let the hand crutch of  logic bloom

no detour around the season of  wheat

don’t bring along the baggage of a disquiet heart

more deranged than a paperweight riding the waves

history like the confessions of a suffering patient

paces of light cross through the forest

to a place more distant than thought

in a dream    berries are screaming

bidding farewell to the end of homesickness is morning

finding the truth of the keyhole