In Ancient Days

In ancient days, I’d only

write letters, not knowing

where we’d meet.

Now I flood your email,

my characters like stars

chasing after you.

I care little where they land.

In ancient days, mountains were green facts.

Blue water at our feet,

we’d simply clasp fists, keeping faith

we’d meet again.

Now you fly this place and that,

my small stars trailing through the sky,

reaching out as to a sore spot,

countless tries to patch

the blue screen, though not hysterical.

In ancient days, how many poems

to be a Lao Shan Taoist, to slip into

a cup of bamboo-leaf tea,

stride on air, pass through brick walls

and seize you. Or

beat one’s head bloody.

Now, you thumb a phone

that wafts ten thousand scents,

the fragrance of a distant body.

One part trembles and a whole world shakes.

Ancient days weren’t like this.

We spurred the horses then, side by side,

covering a few miles.

My earrings clinked, a grin showed on your face.

We kept ours heads down, and rode.