On The Endless Extravagant Magic

dressing its chin
in clothes we could
not swallow
the spring water clocks
are assisted
by sunny breezes
through shifting constellations
of lotus
maserati and jaguar

that thin grass
can barely support a comb

our willows now
are threadlines
lost in the endless mail

what headlines might be foreshadowed
among the closed and painted drapes

bees are lighting

in the twisted complex skulls of stones
which rise like towers
whose windows are formed
by hidden spinal columns
flowering with bubbles

inside the high cave walls
bright sky blue lichens flame
and leaves of false green lichen glow

but the fire is extinguished
and the wild gloom replaces it
with images
from our lost and extravagant worlds

and the kissers keep their coldness
from winter earlessnesses
now veined with beatitudes
of gnawing chattering
and hye-shva-jinxes

(after Li He's _Spring Morning_)