SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI

They are polishing up the new

sidewalks at the corner of Wangfujin.*

They crouch above their machines,

pressing them hard to the stone.

The granite dust muffles them.

Their faces are swathed in towels.

They are invisible to passing shoppers.

They have been told the sidewalks

will last as long as the Wall.

On a curb, a beggar strokes his bow

across his single-stringed instrument.**

They are writing old poems on

the sidewalks at the Temple of Heaven.

They dip long brushes into water.

Gracefully, silently, they spell out

their characters, large and flowing

onto these concrete scrolls. They pause

to consider whose calligraphy appears

most praiseworthy, most enduring,

and as they deliberate, the sun rises,

erasing their poems, stroke by stroke.

           *Beijing’s best known shopping street.

           **The traditional, two-stringed erhu.

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