Lark me from this weathering
Into the petrichor after a hailstorm.
There is symmetry in the water
Like I have never seen, peel of
Hydrangea like I have never felt,
Haloes sharpened from the taste
Of hexagons. Next to your eyes
In the marrow of this fog into each
Particle of our outcome, I grieve
For the countries flaming in our
Lungs after decades of air forsaken.
I don’t want to leave these
Compilations of night, onesome
Even with you as of rain fitted for
Lips undulating toward a smile.
Now this time it loved back, a fruited
Transmuting of my courage into
Smoke and then I heard it to be you:
The sun-swallowed howl of your
Cobra’s heart owning its kingdom.
Photograph of Mai Der Vang © Andre Yang.