Water Rations In a Prison Cell

after Ho Chi Minh I The stone basin holds still water. The still water drinks the arid sponge as rays of pure energy slake their thirst on the ebon wings of crows II Yangtze flows from widows peak pooling briefly in the lock of a tired eye. Dirt and salt cry brackish tears before leaping from sallow chin, like rain from languid boughs III Frogs turn dirges beyond translucent glass, their croaks fold and crease the air putting dusk on the shelf. Aphids eat the pithy stalks and drown in sudden morning dew. IV No callused hand washes in the same basin twice V The kettle boils, pallid phantoms push through iron walls. Prescient tea leaves show time’s current—fish swim upstream. Two worlds away, a young girl draws a bath. VI Forehead donning liquid rosaries, each dawn anoints a king anew Each afternoon, grains of rice cling to one another, fulfilled. Ink spills quickly each evening, the white page laps at pitch waters. VII Eleemosynary sunlight burns through the keyhole, tumblers click in the lock. The stone basin is once again filled with still water.