Ruins

Sunlight scatters
details of
debris from
the wall


In the dew of morning
fragments gleam
like gemstones
for mad foragers

a cry rises

and men and women rush
to the well of voice

bury to the other end
and see the land bathed
in numberless
tears

The heart of
the Middle Kingdom
bleeds
stone

We are
sparing
with care.
But present
with cameras,
narration,
and dead air.

Xanaxadu

Mouth dry
as a cracked
riverbed,

the Sun
is my
Nimbus.

Every stem sings.
Heavenly orisons
bind me in
bright oblivion.

Sap flows
from my fingers,
anointing everything.

So thirsty,
but the world
is content.

Here a stately pleasure dome I decree.