in the DMZ ravines north of the Kaesong wastes edging south of the perfect ruler’s pink and prisoned paradisethere is a climate paying no attention to us where cranes repopulate serpentine deltas
Every morning opening the newspaper, I am faced with the thin line that divides disaster and deprivation from a world of luminous wealth. Tuesday, January 29th, for instance, bodies, many of them children, lie on the ground They drowned in the canal trying to escape a weapons depot fire and explosion in Lagos. Their heads are twisted in straw and dust near the feet of on-lookers whose cries we cannot hear
The light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears Blossom from the summer's wreath; The older is condemned to death, Pardoned, drags out lonely years Conspiring among the ignorant. I know not...