Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

May 30, 2004

Written From Recollection

the cat comes in bright eyed
and smelling of wilderness
seems pleased fur dewy
with dawn frost and
I sway in a daze

it's mid-day hot season in
Nong-Kiawh, Laos

I do dinner dishes
he sleeps at the moment
when the cat paws at the window
at four a.m. busy awake
with the frost and
we're off

an egg gleams brown wet
in ashes of hearth
woman squats by fire stirring

the journey by flight was
a dream dovetailing madness
unknowing fear elation and all
is ready almost for
one can never be

rid of the instinct
towards home and torn away
peace of mind won't fit on
our backs so instead we pack
a nest of paper cotton and
we're off

mere minutes pass from our
one last Pacific sunset to our
groggy tumble from the throat
of morning to the seat of a truck
fear fallen somewhere behind us

and soon seatbelted in reverie we cross
ice and sea the earth never looked
as clear as above Magadan with
the mute and frozen ocean and
winking eye of man and
we're off

it's mid-day hot season in
Nong Kiawh, Laos

while the air traffic controller
crackles through Russian
cold atmosphere
to us up here
the truth is stark

I'm dozing off writing in
Nong-Kiawh, Laos

he comes in from walking
strange darkened by the sun
makes a gift to me
of a jungle snail's shell
pale and smooth-lipped as
the smile of memory


Posted by Delire at May 30, 2004 11:12 PM
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