(Hualamphong Railway Station, Bangkok)
The chiaroscuro atmosphere that swirls
About like Van Gogh’s night sky
Through the haze of orange light.
Objects and figures are shrouded
In a mist of transitory sphere;
And it seems history is pervasively
Aired out from us.
As I locate my boxcar
I sense life losing its grip,
Pulling away, and I see it
Behind me shatter
In specks of light.
At the same moment a new
One is constituted breath by breath
In the dark spasm of air
Until I reach my berth
And brace myself
For the brave lonely journey
Towards geometric blues.
9 March 2003
Phnom Penh, Cambodia