" you must focus every word as if you are watching a lonely sail out at sea." ~ Yu Feng

in the first verse of this poem, a moon is reflected
on the snow's silver printing plate--
a mirror's inverted image
of an island inside the heart
where a living ghost has been taken
out of time.

but in the next paragraph, the dawn shines
its sword of light up from the horizon
and you can see the snow-white clouds
ripping apart, hurled with brutal force
against your window.

midway through the verse,  every
day is a rock that makes you have to sit down,
and the page of your life is blank in all directions.
you wonder if the end of the end is not the end,
because the end itself is without end;

or if the poem is actually ghost-talk--
the forgotten,the forgetter; the dead, the killer,
the words used as a mask, and the
one whose face does not remain
when the mask is thrown down.

the poem writes you into a space
outside the book,  and it reads
the history buried in your body,
it is where, by wishful thinking,
you can cleanse every personal event
into something universal.

in the next to last verse,
cold pines are trembling in the wind
as the huge feet of the clouds
stomp across a shattered sky.

so i will write a warm, green verse
where you have tossed your hat
on a bench and it stays there forever.
you kiss me, and the kiss never ends.
in the last line, you love me there,
and there you go on loving me forever