See her sitting into a lotus on the cooling pad, back against a dado,
Shaking loose her hair and expression, the blouse like a vestment,
The jar of memory she takes in both hands and tilts, and the past
Threading out one by one, two by two, like the cascade of milk
With a varying curve and shape, now narrow ans now broad.
Time is so sensual, and yet time still keeps its own pace somewhere
Along the low skyline on the distant sea, all colors whitening.
So many that she has never let out before are now going eternal,
And her breath is a butterfly that makes us fluttering and mute.
This moment is a snowy afternoon downy in the crystal ball,
The shaft of sunlight holds in the mid-air,, finding the lake and lawn
Tucked in someone’s mind where she sits like a lotus on an island.
What is it that is leaving one soul, washing past another’s body?
He is leaving too. Has she emptied him out or redisplaying him in the sun?
Sept. 18, 2009