North: after the storm, all dust hung up
in the crowded air, with his human face
frozen into a dot of dust
and a rising speckle of dust
melted into his face
to avoid this cold climate
of his antarctic dream
he relocated his naked soul
at the dawn of summer
South: like a raindrop on a small lotus leaf
unable to find the spot
to settle itself down
in an early autumn shower
my little canoe drifts around
near the horizon
beyond the bare bay
Center: deep from the thick forest
a bird’s call echoes
from ring to ring within each tree
hardly perceivable
before it suddenly
dies off into the closet
of a noisy human mind
West: not unlike a giddy goat
wandering among the ruins
of a long lost civilization
you keep searching in the central park
a way out of the tall weeds
as nature makes new york
into a mummy blue
East: in her beehive-like room
so small that a yawning stretch
would readily awaken
the whole apartment building
she draws a picture on the wall
of a tremendous tree that keeps growing
until it shoots up
from the cemented roof
***
Changming Yuan, 8-time Pushcart nominee and author of Chansons of a Chinaman (2009) and Landscaping (2013), grew up in a remote village, began to learn English at 19, and published several monographs before leaving China. With a PhD in English, Yuan currently tutors and co-edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Qing Yuan in Vancouver. Since mid-2005, Yuan’s poetry has appeared in 879 literary publications across 30 countries, which include Asia Literary Review, Barrow Street, Best Canadian Poetry (2009;12;14), BestNewPoemsOnline, Taj Mahal Review and Threepenny Review.
Leave a Reply