You can only hunker down so long & then the wind dies or rushes on to some other place to do its damage & all that time you've been huddled there together holding your breath, hoping against wildest hope that up aboveground nothing you love has been blown away hoping with a deep longing the wind has cleared the air & the new light shining is there to stay
Tu Fu, "Thoughts While Traveling at Night" There’s a wind in the grass— Is there here a boat’s mast claiming my lonely night too? I see the stars can’t be called hanged, exactly, just hanging down, not over emptiness, but honest ground, the moon trying the black skin of this river, black corpse... But, even plainer— I wonder if these words, my words, will ever bring me fame. I have my age, my injuries. They limit me. I’m like some spook bird I know, solo and roped between where rotting happens and a sky.