to the birdsong that drifts in under my windowsill…
to the birdsong that drifts in under my windowsill,
let your warbling notes fall into my symphony.
for your breath has traveled the world while I was sleeping
and it comes back whispering promises of desert rain, mountain snow.
blow them gently into my lungs and let me breathe the touches of the world,
for your breath soared a million miles while you slumbered, your heart a million more.
your soul has danced across the heavens searching.
let it rain, let it shine, let it flutter and twirl in.
when asked what you dream of, you say forever.
well if forever must end, let it end in the
taste of wind, the fragrance of daylight, the graceful caress of a falling leaf.
to grandpa
to the one from days long gone
you remember that newspaper clipping don’t you?
the one we found crumpled, stained with something yellow and slipped
between the pages of some old science magazine, plastered with the
faded image of some already forgotten creature drowned
beneath the rising of the sea-green tides and smothered
by the burning of the grass-yellow fields.
what about the words that spilled out of you as
you felt the despair soak into me,
can you still hear the way your words
danced like wind-blown ferns and blossomed
into rain-soaked roses that tame the wildfire
burning holes into my heart?
there are days when I wish you would
whisper again, tell me stories of an Earth long gone, of
animals that graced these lands and plants that blessed them,
close my eyes and hear you tell me
those who saw the land loved too fondly to be fearful
Surrender
Beneath the gleaming leaves that swamp the lake,
The croaking frog frolics.
It leaps, a breaching whale that breaks
The waves, looks skyward at the
Bare branches and twirling birds, and plummets.
Above the frozen river beside the frosted grove,
A flurry of bees whirls away.
Like gusts of winter wind,
They billow into the distance
Until a blanket of silence weighs upon my back.
Bordered by the mossy stones,
The rainbow fingerling dances
Like a gleaming snowflake, which
Floats into the gurgling stream,
And melts into the treacherous waterfall.
I look at the oak where the fair-feathered eagle perches,
It gazes at the watery expanse,
Streaked with golden rays and shimmering with heat.
The eagle swoops, its wingtips carving
Storm clouds into ribbons that curl, unfurl, and fade away.
In this realm I feel it too,
This moment, this stillness,
In the heart of every wood, every tree, every leaf,
Surrender.
Tianyi Evans Gu 