Ha – La – Li

(LoveSuicide for A-Dong)

‘And over Li Chiang, the snow range is turquoise

Rock’s world that he saved us for memory  

                  a thin trace in high air…’    – Ezra Pound

 

Cold fingers sketch the mist,

your outline

++++++pencilled

through dawn’s paper napkin.

 

I follow you under rose-boughs

overhung

 

++++++this cobble-road –

a sleeping scar in our giant’s backbone

that feathers ghosts

+++++++++++++++++++across

snow-peached skin.

 

I cup your hands at the crest,

cradling them to me

++++++before leaping

 

and our eyes

+++++++melt

++++++++++++++into the air.

Turtle Shells and Dipping Eggs

So, here we are.

It’s early November, and Rab is on his twenty-third cigarette since noon. I watch as he pulls deeply, as though it’s the last drag he’ll ever have.

The end burns bright, making my eyes hurt in the darkness. The butt crumples, defeated between his rough fingers. Unsticking it from his tacky lips, he discards.  Resting a hand on his thigh and keeping his mouth closed, he clears his throat.

He is sitting to my right. I shift a little in my seat, and wait for him to answer.

Karla M. Alexander