This moment, a man is walking down the street, a coffin on his shoulder
his sweaty shirt unbuttoned,
his feet crushing the starlight.
He dreamt once of dark roofs and red lanterns
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.
This moment, a big wind gusts over trackless seas and sands.
Who takes out the trash? Who beams a flashlight toward the sky?
Who snares flying birds in one move,
and scatters handfuls of iron ore?
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.
Five hundred women in five hundred rooms loosen their hair,
take off shoes, stockings, come to the window in underwear.
Five hundred librarians switch off the lights in five hundred libraries,
hearing their stomachs rumble.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.
Five continents, five oceans, the Prime Meridian crossing the Equator,
The horse mates with the donkey and bears a mule.
The gingko is split in two sexes, like us.
Scientists train chimps to count from one to ten.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.
This moment, someone is becoming Picasso,
another Mao Zedong.
After long illnesses, fathers become doctors, yet the young
insist they deny their lives’ work.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.
Piles of fallen leaves are set alight. Another autumn.
Whoever lunges into flame leaves much to doubt.
Most come to winter through fall
yet one sister dons a flower.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.
A thin man rides third class
between two salesmen.
No one knows his name, but he splits melon seeds
as towns slip past the window
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.
This moment, a boy thrusts a foot from his blanket
and his grandmother tucks it in.
Such a small soul should wing above the streets
with life’s passion and genius.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.
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