Cicada trees
—dedicated to S

This letter that I send 
To you must travel—

Must first plunge into the darkness 
With confetti of words, with the symbols of my calling—

Must taste the metallic bitter of rain and iron 
And dwell 
In the coldness to preserve memory 

In rations overwhelming to ten-thousand miles—
Must reason and turn 
To evoke a hot summer: cicada trees warming to ears and
The scarcity of nights that fold 
Easily in their pillars of dreams—

Must be stamped (several times) 
And deliver like Chinese whispers
The entire collection of my shadows in exchange 
For yours—

Must have breakfast by the posts—
Must cross deserts and streams—
Must endure 
Silence and uncertainty—a world's end 
Every seven seconds as I blink by and by the time—

Must reach; must yearn—
Discard beat and breath
And balance for the crash of embrace that smears 
So dearly even the frames of souls—

Must drink from your palms 
To revive 
Like a dry leaf 
Holding on to a tree dreaming of poetry

And be read.

Dale Chou
2007-08-18