uneven lines of thought
it rains day and night
a lifer says it could
go a month like that
hissing monologues
that just forget to let up
so now it's a habit
uneven lines of thought
score the brow
on old man mountain
smoky fingers clasp
my winter moon
shadows lengthen, fray
"shadows become what they
fall on," I say, cautiously, you
pretend not to listen and
endless gargle-voiced
pronouncements
blur in the rain
Ellen Sander
December 2002 Xiamen, PR China
China Poetry Cover Page