Night Gallery

 

I.
There is a youth
standing on a log,
his breath is the colors
of rain; it makes a yellow
sound of bird eggs
breaking.
He balances one human heart.
Blue veins going in.
Red veins going out.

II.
Within sleep I see a woman
painted on a man’s lips,
green and longing.
Dots line his way to move:
Ancients led by beards or
walking sticks.
LaoTzu on parade
into nothingness.
The snow-white owl leads
to a household of dreams,
his wish to leave blood stains
or an echo of mouse murder
in the field where he reigned.

III.
As a woman
I wear a feather of green
or of shadows.
I push a low boat
into the sea.