September Book

by Xi Yongjun
     trs. by Sophia Kidd

I rush before daybreak   to ask
a drop of dew on its grass tip
the guard who’s fallen asleep
using ancient alchemy
I extract morning light from a star, the pond
is an eye of morning   water lilies bloom
I walk the streets   each stem blesses
bougainvillaea’s wedding veil
it’s as if gods beseech them to open
a swath of American myrtle   without the tailcoat
Uncle Sam   help our city’s flora
burst forth in flame   a youth
slows his silver motor bike, a dandy    he
sounds the alarm of a new age for the city
and the crape myrtle in Tu Fu’s Thatched Cottage
remains thin as the poet

I walk the street   a gardener
head in flowers   wants to shred the green belt
into pieces of cloud   use
rough hands like branches to
clean up past lives and dust from the blade
a girl turns toward him   again and again
a butterfly on her braid   deep in meditation
beside him   trees busy building a ladder
to send the city skyward

not far away   workers tear down
an old building   wave hammers
awaken flashes   raise church bells
musical scales   feathers of pigeon
slow them down
as they raze this plot
for growing sky-rises
there is still a patch
of breathing soil
if possible   i will serve it faithfully

the street cleaning car moves slowly   a gospel
this routine of John the Baptist   i want for it
to brighten each September day

September 1, 2015, Chengdu, China