By Arthur Sze
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance,
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
and, at the equinox, bathe in its gleam.
Using all the tides of starlight,
we find
vicissitude is our charm.
On the mud flats off Homer,
I catch the tremor when waves start to slide back in;
and, from Roanoke, you carry
the leafing jade smoke of willows.
Looping out into the world, we thread
and return. The lapping waves
cover an expanse of mussels clustered on rocks;
and, giving shape to what is unspoken,
forsythia buds and blooms in our arms.
Arthur Sze, "At the Equinox" from Compass Rose. Copyright © 2014 by Arthur Sze. Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press, www.coppercanyonpress.org.
Source: Compass Rose (Copper Canyon Press, www.coppercanyonpress.org, 2014)
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