~~~You Don’t See This Fire from Your Eyes,

You Don’t See Me at All, Even Though I’m Lit Up for You~~~Mudan, the Chinese poet

Entering into the alley without an end

The lights, the graves for the moths, the forever night ranchestrying to find what was lost…not my photograph…

The markings of sparrows on the muddied ground, and the cells from the scattered pine nuts

I feel I already knew them

——Like I’d already known myself too

Praying——for the Current Moment of a Certain Window

The Opening——for the Sake of the Illuminated Moon

I’d Still Gazed Toward the End Disappointed

Carried Those Scattered-Away Reasons in My Palms

The Secrets Words of Hers Still Hung Out on Your Lanai to Dry

The Morning, Made for Coffee

where is it???  not my photograph…

The Handwritten Leaves that’s Hers Still Kept Inside that Bowl Like a Wrinkle-Covered Heart

Slowly, Coming to Shape, on This Road that Nobody Was Keeping

There’s, that vivid imagery of how someone is running around in an unfamiliar place, searching, for something s/he had lost, not knowing what it was that s/he had, lost in the first place…