With lullabies cicadas join his wife . hive warm
good night for their first child, until the nation's yard
stick deep cleans all : Morning! you can come
out now.
The light screens day, pain shift keys face save . block
foul pen raiders; codes
patrol the silence dotting data
fields. land lines run past opinion.
[Heart last break in : Seeking Cash,
Zimbabwe Sells 35 Elephants To China]
He tucks a blade . close shave . under his pillow for
throat check lifts his profile; his rock bed furrowed
up for it . cleft moon risen.
No, not tonight, our love, on prayer mat ~ knee
brace rush gold less sure ~ with finger clasp breath
teaming, we double back beat . site our need win
wing this thing.
– W.W.
SIGNAL FROM A YOUNG PLANET
Skimming the valleys of past pain
to reach for tomorrow's white peaks,
lie awake, truth to tell, and plot
your next move of fifty light-years.
Meanwhile no-one has time to spare
for the leaping eye of your voice
whose muse, the one who does not have
to know what it means to help you
shape it, lies beside you, holding
the creaking hand of your mind's clock.
For all its gift of charging hope
by beaming into the present,
Love remains the lonely outlaw
of shaming generosity,
never more than a step ahead
of the pillory and the cross.
(from "Within The Wind" © by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 