Ansonia’s Song

Are these matters
Commensurate, I really have
Little or frequently no idea.

All I know is relative
Within my idealistic heart,
This desire, wanting you near,

Like a pendulum pulling on
The weights of my attention,
Harmonic oscillations,

I stand in the hallway of my life,
Dust appears in shafts on light
Through a stained glass window

Above a blue door I cannot open,
Doomed to stay motionless
Until I am used for new fires.

The Horologist’s Song

A timeless unwinding of love,
We dismantled the blossom clocks
From Guangzhou to pause lotuses
Opening their bouquet-tunes;
Music produced for the Queen
Of Heaven is on hold in
The brass and copper components
Which wonder how they lost
The moment of their subtle roles.

I would not be so complacent
To overlook the craftsmanship
Of the opulent Asian creed
Of peacock silhouettes and
Jade apparatuses. The ripples
In your name are released
With a gasp as I unclasp
And reappraise the eternal
Struggle of apertures in Time.

The assonance, the lyrical
Sweep of your name rill
Through the teeth of my
Rehearsals like streams
Flowing over precious stones
Glistening underwater;
We have stripped the needs
Of ego as we dipped our feet
In the dials of my training.

May these distinct entities
Rewind with answers for two
Distant lovers; a former state
Repatriated, Love’s levels
Slowly rose like water-marks
Behind the buttress dams
In Hubei Province, not far
From the alarms at the start
Of dragon boats fiercely racing.