You are still
Frozen in your chosen space and
Waiting to rise between
Crumbling pagodas.
You yawn over ruins,
And I watch you dance between decapitated torsos.
Between us lay a dozen stone figures,
Subject to degradation and decay,
Under the weight of your cruel thumb.
We watch each other in silence.
The shadows of trees stretch along the ground.
Our fingertips touch. Mine –
And yours.
Old version:
You are still
Frozen in your chosen space and
Waiting for the sun to rise between
Crumbling pagodas.
You watch me as I watch a decapitated torso
catch the sunlight as you yawn
over stone and ruin.
Between us lay a dozen of your doubles
Subject to the degradation and decay
Under the weight of your cruel thumb
We wait and watch each other, together in silence.
Are they your brothers? Sisters?
Perhaps they are your servants of a pinkish hue tainted by the foreign sun.
Shadows of trees stretch into your midst like long worn fingernails
They yearn for you to notice them with a fearful dread.
You are magnified by scale and an expanse of space difficult to fathom.
Our fingertips touch. Mine –
And yours. Your right shoulder feels my touch
And slides,
Colliding with the sunlight.