2003 Poetry

The pavement unhinges

the velocity of a gait.

Bare feet marking spaces,

walking in no directions.

The pace slows down

to gape at the wilting blooms,

which were charily set on tiled wound.

The angel’s weep is too palpable,

but not a single tear could resuscitate

the rose from going back to its former redolence.

Where are the amaranths

that were sowed years ago?

Perhaps amaurosis may have

driven them away.

Slowly, the white gate is shutting,

and so is a will dangling on the cliff.

written 9/18/03

View pangan_l_l's Full Portfolio