What I saw there;
the grasses streams trees rivers stones mountains
the pale orange crystal pulled from the rock face
the wayward clots of white and lavender clouds
luminescent jellyfish the inlet criss-crossed by birds
the silver sheen of water children marking it with fists
and winds unbound by municipal borders sheltering me
tender heartedly
needle-nose pines in a damp field stinging the air
covetous old knots on a string
still tied to my grandfather’s big toe in Shandong
rough and green flowers falling
in a long tradition
over his body
and my father straining his red-tipped ears
towards an American middle ground
the dark sermon of those early years crisis of distance
and wild power of my mother—
wild new discipline that nonetheless held
back feverishly her tongue