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A Sheaf of Pleasant Voices

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There are rooftops
made of cloud remnants

gathered by a trader
dabbling in car parts and burlap

At night, I dive onto the breeze
fermenting above the dirt

and dream that I am a crocodile
a tin of shoe polish, an audience of two

In the morning, before the smallest yawn
becomes a noodle, I am offered

a ribbon of yellow smoke
I opt for fuzzy rocks and clawed water

and, of course, the perishable window
I am one of the last computer

chain errors to be illuminated
I tell you there are rooftops

on which the moon stops
being a cold jewel

And one by one the mountains
begin their descent from

the chambers of a lost book

John Yau, “A Sheaf of Pleasant Voices” from Paradiso Diaspora. Copyright © 2006 by John Yau. Reprinted by permission of Penguin, a division of Penguin Group (USA), LLC.
Source: Paradiso Diaspora (Penguin Books, 2006)
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A Sheaf of Pleasant Voices

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