Chinese Sunset

 

Chinese Sunset

The orange sun
wrapped in paper thin clouds
hangs in the sky
like a chinese lantern.

Its incandescence
enchants me.

I think of
pointy-toed
curling
silk slippers
(scarlet
embroidered with
golden threads
like the sky)

and
unadulterated
tea served in small
round cups without
handles
and fireworks
and clocks (they invented
them you know)

and shiny
straight
black hair falling
across the slanted
eyes of the day
and night falling
like a royal gong
being rung
and the evening sky the
color of plum wine swirled with
cherry blossoms

and the industries
of a worm
and the charisma
of a dragon
(red of course
like the firecrackers)

and night mists
hanging like incense
in the air
and the stars twinkling
like the chiming of many
small silver bells

and small things of
big import
and large things
of little content

and hermits
sitting on top of mountains
that are perfectly shaped
upside-down Vs
with their long white
beards growing around and
curling
all the way down
the mountainside
and their nails
are even longer
unbelievable
spiraling
oddities

and this whole experience
is
illuminated
on the accordion pleated
memory
with which
I'll fan myself
on some soul-stultifying
day.