And Poetry Becomes a Warrior
In sleep's ocean, in the way a crane wades
In shallow water looking for fish, I dip my pen.
And I write dreams on night's walls: graffiti of love.
Punctuated by your gentle snoring, music of looms
From the hills, weaving embroidery of fireflies,
Embraces my newborn rhyme with ancient arms.
I want to sink my soul deeper, bottomlessly, and
Never to wake up and face mornings corrupted by
Stench of rigor-mortising corpses.
A blast, somewhere in the valley,
Frightens lullabying cicadas, and
My muse wakes up in a battlefield.
And poetry becomes a warrior.
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