Later Must Be Bach
As I breathe back into a known world,
The puddles reflect pieces of dawn: breaking gently,
Gray turning blue, corporeal like a rock.
The frogs with their shrill voices
Shake the still slumbering earth,
The farmers’ crops, the interior of forests.
From where I’m sitting, collecting the bread
Of the day, the nearest stern slender two-trunk tree
Stands impassive yet growing distinct
Through the creeping light.
Now I surmise there is tentative
Pause of rain, a wider berth of work and talk
For us, vegetation, deer, gibbon, snake, civet,
From so much water, so much dampness;
We’ve long known patience for lingering dark clouds.
Now I set my tea, its warmth being
Planted on the skin of my palms and sends
Resonance of newness,
A prayer unfolding from wet leaves,
Stirring in the cool morning air.
16 June 2004
Koh Kong, Cambodia