Two Poems
Cain Scours The Moon
See? How pitted the face of the Moon!
That’s Cain’s fault and expiation.
Exiled for murder he roams
with his bundle of thorns scratching
and scarring the Moon’s pink
unforgiving stone
When I die, unredeemed
send me to join him
with my minuscule, sharp
bundle of thorns to scratch
our names on the face
of the Moon
Listening to Bamboo Grow
You are the cat perched
on my cradle
Patient cat
waiting waiting
measuring
the beat of my breath
I can only sleep
when I can hear
the bamboo sprouting
Soon I will be safe
one hundred pointed shoots
to pierce your wanton paws
Each sword raised
to defend the sound
of the wind leaving
my lungs
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