The Prize

after Tai Piao-yüan

Walking the woods at Dorris Ranch,

my sweetheart found a beauty,

but couldn’t recall her way back.

We looked and looked for a month

with no success. This December,

there it was at the base of a downed fir;

a perfect strawberry-tinted fungus.

Three a.m. in Late Autumn

after Chao Meng-fu

Tonight clouds scatter with the pink ghosts

of fallen red leaves. In this eight year drought

streams slow and water barely tumbles

from the cliffs. Chanterelles in forests,

leaf-crumble on the paths. Under spring sun

my brother’s orchard brims with pear and apple

blossoms. The plentiful creeks surround

his farm, along with a hundred mountains

thick with firs. But that is not my home.

The geese gone south, my sleepy eye darkens,

ten thousand points projecting joy and grief.

Tapestry

A tapestry without end, starlight

on the meadow, through the cedars,

among alders by the creek where

the wind sweeps shallows, an egret

stands on boulder, one leg bent, barely

balanced in the breeze. How far the path

to heaven! Maybe we will fly there

together some night of new moon.

Light Wind

after Ma Chih-yüan

Raw trees, old crows on wires

in this twelfth month of the year.

Fingerlings run downstream,

branches collect on sandy banks.

Prime ministers of poverty.

my poems dream of hard labor.

It is time to retire, to become

the fragrance of snow, a light

breeze through persimmon limbs.

Plain Clothes

after Ma

for Erik

Few teeth, bald head, one eye,

at sixty-five what’s left for me?

Wearing plain clothes and slippers

inside my room, with dog and cat close,

jazz on the stereo and a dim light,

who can hear the storm outside?

It goes on even while contemplating;

my own December sorrows

and the deep debts of my poems.

Inscription

after Yü Chi

in memory

Miracles restored, do the dead respond

to prayer? The bones say no, the ashes yes.

They never forget they arrive at home

where they have many neighbors.

On this seventh day of December

the question’s posed why certain scholars

have never found the answer?

Casting

after Yü

The boulders and logs for stream restoration

placed by helicopters in West Fork Creek

run the western boundary of my brother’s farm,

big enough to tether a mule if that’s what’s

done with such creatures. The rocks and logs

are so large one could sprawl out on them

and drop a line but it’s a spawning tributary

and steelhead fishing isn’t allowed there.

Mummies

after Yü

Mummies lacquered in their deep green,

the spines of cedars splashed

with a glaze of dew. For years to come

they will glow in the autumn months.

What other place but in these mountains,

across from this river? For no reason

these trees collect the wind’s breath,

echo the jumping sounds of rain.

No Human Voice

When the moon calls just before midnight

who is there to watch but this old man

walking the pasture with his dog? No one

but the frost that catches light, a few moles,

frogs who sing at night, the fish that never sleep,

coyotes and the neighbor’s cows.

A Flock

High in the sky, a reflection the sun makes

blown by ocean bound breezes across heaven.

Is it a nest for wayward birds or a flock

of sheep abandoned way up there,

maybe snow dispersed over the cool meadow?

In the stark night air it preens its feathers

and fills the streams with glitter. But really,

it’s just a painting by Magic Mike.

Landscape

Looking at a landscape by Magic Mike,

Erik said, I can hear the wind in the trees.

Surely Mike would have been pleased.

He gave away his paintings, or sold them

for pennies on the dollar. After he died

many who never valued him asked for paintings.

Given away, now his work is revered.

Nap

Wishing my poems had no interest in the world.

But with war, desecration, and depression,

it’s hard to remove myself. Fame and wealth are lemmings.

Napping and thinking of bustling ants, the poet’s resigned

to watch the moon crawl over eastern mountains.

                                                                                                                                               Copyright 2009 Leonard Cirino