Between the Flowing Thread and the Luminous Line


A river twisted below streets sunburned with rust,
here and there by the river banana tree thickets,
beneath bridges wet moss and urine, tuneless
flagstones underfoot, on the streets hotel workers
waiting for buses, on the river little barges
rowing tourists to pleasure, above all was brighter
and hotter, the sky’s hard blue porcelain
felt in the teeth and the bone, every morning
calling to the aged woman in her bed, a smile
ever more disturbing, a young woman’s smile…