VANISHING AND RETURN

    lana bella

 

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You want to look for

a thatch-roofed house with 

red bougainvillea vines, 

by the china road

that dips down almost

out of sight.

 

The clouds move under 

your fingertips when

you rake your gaze across 

the peach orchards, 

soft, yielding, like the fine-

combing of azure tines 

through the earth's womb.

 

Pondering to the care 

of father's hands 

that had long since left, 

and mother's calls 

consumed by another winter,

you lay your kiss

on the chlorophyll and 

carbon sunlight

where the early dew glows

then condenses,

to remind you of all

that is vanishing

and return.