Landscape
Landscape I M. assures me she'll be back to fling my ashes in the local creek. (We're short on sacred rivers here)." The pungent air will suit my soul: It will find its place among the plastic carrier hags and rags that float upstream or is it downstream. One can never tell. The sea sends everything reeling back. The trees go under. II We push so much under the carpet- the carpet's now a landscape. A worm embedded in each tuft There's a forest moving. Everybody smiles and smiles. III The crows will never learn there is garbage enough for everyone: the mouths of the young are raw red, soundless. The egret alights on the topmost branch. Not a leaf is disturbed. On all sides the ocean. V stretch marks of the city Look the other way: There are dhows 7 there mud banks white horses for desert kingdoms an old monkey coughs in a tree the young sense food begin their walk up the hill slow sure unceasing we lock the windows bar the doors the sun burns through the walls
Landscape I M. tells me she will return to scatter my ashes in the local stream. (We lack sacred rivers here). The strong air will be good for my spirit: It will find a home among the plastic bags and trash that float upstream or is it downstream. One can never know. The sea brings everything back. The trees go down. II We hide so much under the carpet- the carpet has become a landscape. A worm is stuck in each tuft There's a forest moving. Everyone smiles and smiles. III The crows will never understand there is enough garbage for all: the mouths of the young are bright red, silent. The egret lands on the highest branch. Not a leaf moves. Surrounded by the ocean. V the scars of the city Look away: There are boats there mud banks white horses for desert kingdoms an old monkey coughs in a tree the young sense food start their journey up the hill slow, steady, unending we close the windows lock the doors the sun burns through the walls