LAMENTS OF THE GORGES

3

Triple Gorge one thread of heaven over

ten thousand cascading thongs of water,

slivers of sun and moon sheering away

above, and wild swells walled-in below,

splintered spirits glisten, a few glints

frozen how many hundred years in dark

gorges midday light never finds, gorges

hungry froth fills with peril. Rotting

coffins locked into tree roots, isolate

bones twist and sway, dangling free,

and grieving frost roosts in branches,

keeping lament’s dark, distant harmony

fresh. Exile, tattered heart all scattered

away, you’ll simmer in seething flame

here, your life like finespun thread,

its road a trace of string traveled away.

Offer tears to mourn the water-ghosts,

and water-ghosts take them, glimmering.

4

Young clear-voiced dragons in these

gorges howl. Fresh scales born of rock,

they spew froth of fetid rain, breath

heaving, churning up black sinkholes.

Strange new lights glint, and hungry

swords await. This venerable old maw

still hasn’t eaten its fill. Ageless teeth

cry a fury of cliffs, cascades gnawing

through these three gorges, gorges

full of jostling and snarling, snarling.

9

Water swords and spears raging in gorges,

boats drift across heaving thunder. Here

in the hands of these serpents and snakes,

you face everyday frenzies of wind and rain,

and how many fleeing exiles travel these

gorges, gorges rank inhabitants people?

You won’t find a heart beneath this sheen,

this flood that’s stored away aftermath

forever. Arid froth raising boundless mist,

froth all ablaze and snarling, snarling—

what of that thirst for wisdom when you’re

suddenly here, dead center in these waters?

10

Death-owls call in human voices. Dragons

wolf down heaving mountain waters. Here

in broad daylight, with all the enticing

serenity of a clear and breezy sky, they

beggar wisdom, snarling everything alive

in fetid gatherings of vine-covered depths.

Want filling fanged cascades bottomless,

sawtooth froth swells everywhere. Nesting

birds can’t settle in trees tilted so askew,

trees gibbons leaping and swinging fill.

Who can welcome laments of the gorges,

gorges saying What will come will come.