Standing in the Car Park at 2 am.
Yesterday night at two o’clock I went downstairs to take a walk
In the parking lot under yellowish light, where cars crouched like tired animals.
That reminded me of a late return from a concert some years ago,
With my lover friend, and we stood by the car, talking about
How one interpretation about a piece of absolute music could be popularized
And something absolute was named, so that a title
Could finally violate the body, its texture and unique contours.
She’s faded out almost entirely from my life, with occasional emails
Saying hi, with the same old intimate salutation.
I could only imagine the craziness we created and shared.
Actually, I’ve inclined to believe she has been an illusion from my younger years,
Or a fantasy which has evolved into a memory in the present emotion-draining life of mine,
Just like the scene from Larkin’s high window, a perspective
Which I did often take with some unspeakable grudge, while thinking of
A girl, proud, prude and pretty, whom I wooed and failed, for she had fallen
For a man more handsome and mature with what she said “a stronger sense of security.”
That was something at once striking me dumbfounded.
Now I feel even worse, learning that the man has become richer and richer
And she keeps the house intact as long as he sticks to the family and does not
Make her see his women or carry home unspeakable diseases.
I do have her number in my mobile phone, saved as an alternative number of a colleague,
And if it had not been so late, I might have called her, although
I absolutely had no idea what to say except for perhaps
“Oh, sorry! After the second ring I’ve realized it is not a good time and this is not polite,
But you can just say ‘Wrong number!’ and hang up.”
If it had not been so late, how could I have the impulse to call?
I stood by the car-park exit which was a covered bridge over the drainage ditch,
And for a while I saw the water was washing back. So the sea was rising.
That was something given up to time but still time had no control.
When a crazy car raced by the road with loud rock-n-roll, I looked up and found
The waning moon hanging low over the contour of treetops to the west.
So many had been written about the moon in different phases that no more word
About it would not seem hackneyed. I turned my head and turned my thought.
It was for quite a while before I saw the stars that I had expected to see,
And the more I stared into the navy darkness, the more stars greeted my eyes.
Nov. 28, 2009