When we, like brittle ornaments, Will tremble, fall and break.
Then we’ ll be laid below life’ s rooms By suits who undertake
These bones, my love, will rattle when Above, men mow and rake.
BY THE HOTEL POOL( Thailand, 2010)
Here I laze late afternoon, taking stock. The rooftop of that high adjacent block
hosts a man while he welds a metal frame brittle sparks dulling sunken sunlight’ s flame.
Below him seven floors on which each room assumes a premature nocturnal gloom.
Music starts. Street lights glow. Day dims its eyes. Stalls are stocked. Shutters lift. Cooking smells rise.
Over all the welder casts his bright spell while night falls welding heaven onto hell.