Ranked together alongside,
each with our own lid, we stand
in China memories.
Yours generous as the sweep of its body:
water and willow.
Mine contrives its geometry
in the rice-grain pattern.
Afterwards the pressure of your shoulder
stops my mouth; and into a fold of silence
seconds fall, passing
with thoughts but a heart’s pound away.
Numbering the years - thirteen
closes in a just coping Advent.
Bound by ropes of laughter,
I track the lines,
walk the long straight edge of evening:
from a tumbling of shadows
to the smell of you in moonlight.
1999
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