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
blur in the rain

Ellen Sander
December 2002 Xiamen, PR China

China Poetry Cover Page