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Story
By
Ashok Niyogi
No metaphysics, this,
no poetic tradition even,
I have been hit on the head
with the Yale Shakespeare,
and will limit myself to memories,
but it is a story,
because it happened to you and you…
####
In this underground pub,
on a 'winy' afternoon,
you sang like a lark.
####
Temple Toads crowd onto ‘designed’ pebbles,
sound modulates the waterfall,
in carefully orchestrated grammar.
dead lilies float on Narita,
just so, in afternoon sun.
####
Nipponski More in Nakhodka,
your boat bobs up and down,
one moment you are there,
one moment you are gone,
catch your fish, my love.
####
The soil is red in Incheon,
people glide, as they do
in Monterrey Bay,
and strawberries and cream
on the way,
see how the artichokes grow.
####
My daughters lure me back with Crater Lake,
they will throw me into the Canyon,
or make me walk shards of salt
near Badwater, after elk steak,
they will make me trudge the snow
around 'General Grant'
as if I haven't done enough circumlocution in Moscow.
####
I saw the stars, my sweetness,
let me show them to you,
they were there in that Moscow boat,
they were hidden in the disheveled pillow.
You ask Amy, she will know
what it is to walk in the snow.
On snow slides, children play,
we wait for the autobus, you and my shadow.
Copyright © 2005 Ashok Niyogi
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