Tuesday, September 28, 2010

2. The Lichen Clan

Stolen from Temujin to this mirror camp, days
stick in my throat and sicken me.

I see men, women, and children
with the same two arms and legs.

They walk
and wait for me to circle them.

If I remove my silver necklace,
I must bow my neck.

How long can I nurse emptiness,
a heartless child?

The fire at night warms bootless feet.
My silver gelding with a black tail does not run toward me.

I search the Altai Moutains for rising dust.
Before a cooking fire, I dry

a blanket, the same color
as an arrow that pinches the sky 

near the curved tip of a falcon's wing.
I see it.

Men come to crush each other,
and every woman and child with two arms and legs.

Stallions mash bones with hooves
into the black rock of Lake Baikal,

rock with the faces of lichen
that speak as one clan.

No comments: