Reading by Michael Harris Cohen :
on we – still dark – march into the silent anacrusis of daybreak.
The deep – the mirror of a mirror above –
illuminated within, a supple skin turned slate purple
its pores – flores nocturnus – close and open onto the
matte-ness and blackness of us and the earth beneath,
a phantom glow
a knowledge concealed
until – arrested in the nakedness of a hill’s shoulder we raised our heads – it
(blue-blooded and ballantine) reveals itself
due. A Reflection to a Void a moment
yielding to the other
and the other moment and the
plasticity of Subject to Space that waits to _____
We are his subjects.
We are the First Humans.
with thousand sprigs of dew-lit fingers our God
— in one yoke-drop –
ridges and vales at night we thought were
terrible, terrifying sphinxes.
The space becomes Him,
he who fills the space with his unintended
love that is blue, purple, acid-rose, areate. And
clouds – slabs quilted overhead,
torrents overflowing under –
wrath of clairvoyant
beauty. a moment quickens the
other and the other then the other quickens the
avarice of its baroque fury and the other of the
other moment quickens…
And suddenly the day arrives.
we are but specks of
an onerous, turpentine existence and
are forgetful of the magnificent
complexity we call
To see the future – we have seen the future –
we have to endure
— quiet. paralyzed. absent —
In the vale, a hawk.
(Copyright © Mu-Xuan Lin 2017)