Forests growing under water
loom as if there were no plan,
open leaves over the water,
stand up where I want to stand.
WILLIS BARNSTONE
I'm dumb and happy
I'm dumb and happy since I imagine that I'm
a heretic, yet I'm not at all sure
what a heretic is. I dodge outside time,
talking to Mitsos the baker about his loafs
of long night on this Meltemi island, of sins
I repeat, causing pain, of the Cycladic goat
shed I've earned. The old sick priest and his mad
daughter sing
weakly in Sunday morning chapel. Miserable angels.
I hum off key,
safe on the tiny floor of my outrageous being.
Sadness is a form of exultation
Sadness is a form of exultation. I swallow it. It blows
in like Gobi sand scratching my eyes
as I ride my Flying Pigeon bike between rows
of cyclists through gloomy
hutongs
in winter Beijing.
