SUBJECT>A Page Torn from a Journal Found on the Peach Fork POSTER>Gary B EMAIL>garydawg@msn.com DATE>1110035987 IP_ADDRESS>0-2pool114-203.nas2.tukwila2.wa.us.da.qwest.net PASSWORD>aaNdJbosu5nhw PREVIOUS> NEXT> 84287 IMAGE> LINKNAME> LINKURL>

A Page Torn from a Journal Found on the Peach Fork of the River

(following Laurie)

Beneath a the tarnished blossoms of a golden chain tree,
mice search for the last empty nuts and seeds of summer.
A silver thaw splits the trunks of pines planted by sages,
an owl announces his fear with the beat of mottled wings.

I do not notice her steed is a donkey
or her clothes are cheap cotton
in need of repair and today, a wash tub.
I notice her companion -
he seems a callow sort,
a brute with a ferret’s smile
and abusive eyes.

The winter frost deeper than where frogs rest,
tiger lily bulbs along the temple walls freeze.

I told her to wait for me in the pavilion
two streets beyond her lodging.
When I arrived, it was locked,
abandoned with its fragile rice windows shredded.
Well bundled, I waited under the eaves,
unable to find a corner protected from the wind.
I waited, sure she would leave as
he sleep off the last bottle of rice wine.
I contemplated how long before my nose froze.

Beyond mountains where dragons live,
the monks who keep this simple temple
have survived warlords, cadres and bureaucrats
to finally achieve some peace serving tourists.

There are complaints in the tea-shops and noodle houses
about the Americans, their incessant demands
and stingy pockets. “Barbarians so wealthy
should share instead of hoarding like a third wife.
How will we survive another year if this
is all the largesse the devils spread about.”

I overtip.

The monks are silent,
their rice bowels half full until winter ends,
their sandals worn for too many seasons.

The riders left the village -
her fey smile as lively as when she arrived,
him sullen and ill.

A great egret crosses the moon on its way
to where frogs and newts sleep close
enough to the sun to fill a sage’s gullet.