/ Morning Poem
Less and less mist from the south heading north.
As soon as the sky changes, it’s cold and dazed.
Of the half-bed of autumn night that just lifted,
how much is still left on my soles?
My bicycle blew away a road of leaves,
while someone’s lazy starling
scolded me toward the far mountain three times.
This neighborhood, this newly divided old and new,
will spit me out and accept me for a few years.
I open the door, letting in people from Jiangxi and Henan,
inviting plastics and paint into the room.
Yes, right now,
I will expose all the assumptions in this house.
You’re still on the other half-bed of autumn night,
pulling me down to enjoy a loafer’s life.
Sleep. I’ll wake up many more mornings, for you.
11/12/2005
Printed from Cerise Press: http://www.cerisepress.com
Permalink URL: https://www.cerisepress.com/02/04/morning-poem