And I thought I'd just read a couple more from vanishing
line.
This is called "Elegy for Ling" and well, you'll
see what it's about.
[INAUDIBLE] OK, Elegy for Ling.
"Spirit consumed by fire.
Shaman warps to pig's head.
Rain above open mouths.
Doorway between shaman and rainfall.
Ling heart tone of the temple gate of the zero moon
echo of Jade brilliance, red phosphorus Spirit.
Spirit of being un-making Ling.
soul dim light flitting eaves splitting maborosi she light
will-o-the-wisp drawing her nearer,
across what distances darknesses Ling.
Beyond the waste mountains, water streaming
stones that sound of water against stones
of jade pendants, of bells, of antelope horns among branches,
of damask, of feathers of the creaking wheel Ling.
Unrecognizable behind the lattice.
Pages and pages floating down, scales, scars tearing apart,
heart sliver of light ice prison to the measured position.
Of the great-- excuse me.
Of the cracking entablature at the architrave's cusp crumbling
beneath her.
Ling looking down on the ruined city of her birth,
facing the unraveling, the expanding, the contracting,
the pull of the end.
That night before the wedding, before her arrival,
where were you Ling?
Sewing the wedding dress, sewing the seconds.
Her little brother before her, the boy
who jumped through the atrium.
The boy with the gun.
The boy who drowned.
Old men sorting through rubble, brick by brick,
rebuilding the ancient walls.
While the ring roads expand.
While the machinery explodes, the celebrity architects
multiply, ignorant of the original design.
Coal in the lungs, sand in the lungs, carbon monoxide
polychlorinated biphenyl red, dust in the lungs.
The hanged woman's house sold, her belongings sold,
windows barred, tree cursed, the man on his bicycle
hit by a train.
It was pouring rain on the forest,
on the thorptops, that night before the wedding,
before her arrival.
Ancient observatory, wrapped between highways,
between hotels and satellite dishes, billboards and metal
cranes.
At the intersection, Daoists, Buddhists,
Muslims, weighing the heavens, watching
with bronze instruments on a roof of stone.
Before the Jesuits, before verbiest's
refitting his ruder muse, before stumpf's melting of the yuan.
3,300 years ago a nova guest star
recorded on an oracle bone, now gaseous haze for sky.
Electricity spinning arenaceous air, drowning perceptions
of the forged inventions.
Armillary spheres, red road equatorial,
yellow road ecliptic, quadrant, sextant, celestial globe,
polar axis spins positioning the stars.
Dragon theodolite, azimuth theodolite,
at theta, at teth, at sun at death,
like drowning in open ocean, I.C wrote.
The map was there, her laugh is there, alone with the signs.
The patterns, the biochemicals, the codons, the proteins,
translating, unfolding.
The final despair of the final decision,
eyes clear, eyes bright to the received translation.
Ling, cipher spirit-source.
Ling, mystical deer mystical fish,
and anteater wagtail dace.
Ling, Libellullidae winging water chestnut.
Falling rain thru the threshold, of the mind,
of the wine, of the sill, of the thin stone port-hole boat
bottle with handle tilling channel accumulating ice.
Ling, tomb plume, mound coffin.
Yin of the wu-shaman.
Quercus on Sumeru.
Lonely lake, wounding light, traversing the lintel.
For us left, the looking forward, looking back,
at the bridge, at the river, without reconciliation,
without expiation, sound breaking clear.
ing, eyes of turquoise and coral cannot see motherless children,
love's innocence, children on the stairs."