Having nothing better to do, I kill
Time by looking at a traditional
Chinese painting on my iPad
Much enlarged, it appears like
A plain sheet of rice paper
Smeared with ink. I view it
In the presence of bonsai; I
Drop several thick strokes to the floor
Of history, leaving a few fine lines
Behind the sofa, & failing
To catch a colorless corner
Between black and white
It is a landscape newly relocated
Into my heart’s backyard. Then I sit
On my legs, meditating about
No light in the picture, no
Shadow of anything, no perspective
As in hell. Isn’t this the art of seeing?
Yuan Changming perches on Vancouver, where he edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Qing Yuan. Credits include Pushcart nominations, chapbooks, and publications in about 1700 literary outlets across 45 countries.
Sparks of Calliope 