always that guitar shaped
from tear-choked cypress,
always monstera’s open
hands reaching past
the glass jar’s lip,
always you by the sea in
a photo under the lamp
I’ve just switched on,
always two black-streaked
plantains nestled in their
bowl with the garlic,
always that black-covered
Dao De Jing slanted across
Du Fu’s poems,
always a folk song, its
echoed train whistle
Jack Hayes
© 2017
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