CHANG
I feel the night breaking
beneath frost.
Even the moon
is a frozen hook
in the sky. A spike
of icicle inside
my lungs
pierces;
breathing in
winter’s bitter air,
how its sweetened burn stings
like a swallow of whiskey. |
ENG
Though flame and shadow
mask your face
I know.
A messenger
between seas,
this isthmus
between us.
I strike a match to wake you,
but in our armchair you’ve finally begun
to doze.
I bury
leaves of tobacco
in my pipe’s clay bowl;
I smoke
and try not to witness
the shipwreck of your face. |