Negotiation --- a poem

Negotiation

Green, greener yet,

geometric yards and gardens,

span a field of white light morning,

 

up climbing, the familiar family scenes,

before morning passes into oblivion.

 

From the bus window, rain smeared, Lorca is

seen standing on Stockton and Vallejo, without

his saddle and hat,

 

negotiates with his first morning despair.

 

Houses with hedges,

the oak on the front lawn,

while the willow supplicates behind

the house,

 

I will be silent as the rainwater.

 

Dream on, compadre, as the white horses

with black manes,

 

come they to the edge of water,

finding a note in bottle, imperially scripted

by the Empress of China,

 

She said she will install her feeble son

on the golden throne.  

Isn’t this how the story goes…

 

-          Koon Woon, 4/25/26