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The smile in the photograph
Is no reflection of what lies
In the dark hollow of the tunnels
Behind cement squares in rows,
Each, one-by-one in size
Marked by dates, picture and name
Of a tiny flash
A dot of life in the universe
Ashes in urns
Ancestors as concepts
In treasure vaults
Wrapped in rituals
Recycling memory
year after year
For the snow to melt
And the river to flow
Bones crackling
In sacred pyre,
The funeral
In The World of Suzie Wong
Consumed the baby,
and then, lapped up
-the letter of introduction-
¡§To whom-so-ever it may concern¡¨,
Flames are messengers
Carrying the known
To the unknown
Life to afterlife
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Not five thousand years ago
But yesterday
In a flight of freedom from
the silky sheaves
of affluent slumber
folded in
A coffee table book
in a Hong Kong household
Our great ancestor
Grandfather Fu Hsi
the Chinese seer
Leapt out of chronology
Freed from the tentacles of calendars
and exhaled
into the
landscape of my soul
splitting the mountain ranges
of my existence
all into sixty four hexagrams
each one a tell tale oracle
he said
the geometry of my being
aligned with
wind earth heaven
fire rain moon
mountain and thunder too ¡V
With the call of lineage
Answered
I stood like a heron
In contemplation
Still and steady
Ready for the cries of birth.
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