Places and Times

Yellow Mountain

Yellow Mountain has many bridges;
at every one our guide
provides a mournful story
of parent-parted lovers plunging
onto the rocks below.

I look over the rail for bones
tumbled in the ravines.
I see bushes and rocks,
and a silver thread of water
between the drifting mists.

Ah, well, the tales are set
in the T'ang or Chin or Han,
some dynasty older than bones
and dimmer than mist.

I look up at rocky fingers
scribbling clouds in the sky.
I wonder what they write,
these unmoving fingers,
on the blue paper heavens.
Do they record the histories
of lovers untimely dead?

The guide urges us on.
No time to decipher the clouds.
We've more bridges to cross,
more suicidal loves to hear of,
a gift shop to visit for the shopping,
and a bus that will not wait for us.

Next Poem:  "Road Kill"
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Updated last on:  2001/06/19