From What the Welsh and Chinese Have In Common

I Recall That Li Po Considered Death Final

Here, each bud pushes to taste
the pollen of another.
Among the henbit, a luffa
rots like the limp guts
from a two-way radio.
As I lift, it tears.
It bristles in my hands
trying to find its place.
The gourd frame is composed
of wires that carry the language
of the present moment.
All those broken filaments,
irreparable like the circuits
that attach memory,
like the words in an elegy
in which no one is mentioned.

Next Essay in Political Science
Previous Artichokes