Falling Back- after Cai Guo-Qiang


how light the heart beneath a fallen tree,
how tightly clutched the stone,
how still around a lake (no swimming)
ringed with hand swept sand (keep off)
and bent and lapping beasts (don’t stroke)
and an aching bridge of wolves
all faux faux fur
and snarl
and leap
and crash
and turn
and leap again

and how,
when you asked me how my year had been,
were language more precise,
I would have rent the sky with powder burns
and said exactly what I meant.

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