winter, undying

the thin shadow
of the over-pass
I saw them rolling
bags of fish
down the sere sides of the canal
in the waving grass

I saw them scooping
up from the mud
fish from the lakes that had been drained
when the delivery-men
were long gone from
sunning themselves on the banks

the land of winter, undying

and I recalled,
in the shade of the bamboo
whispering, under the heat and fury
of the light, pouring
through the leaves
the drum heart-beats echoing
from some far cold night

the wind sings in the grass, now
the sky thin and clear,
broke free—

the day arches
cracked and bright

the icy
sunlight whips
through the branches
tears
across the ground

distance
hangs in shreds
the winter, undying

and the far rolling beat
rolls in me now
--all that was
--is, and will be
echoes

will come