A Poem from An Kim & A Poem for An Kim, circa 1977
epistle to st.
james
the largo from xerxes I
has been performed
again, admirably, by symphony
where are those ducks?
water ducklings meet
themselves crossing
a john hancock sky
don’t let yr heart
crouched close to the liver
(as we know) lose heart.
don’t forget you are made
a little lower than
angels
not my words, kid
but the movies
bought the book.
and probable.
don’t forget the ducks
wh had no babies
this summer anywhere in the green.
remember the park.
remember the largo caught
on the time zone radio
before your next final
exam. you have to
do
something else now.
keep both oars
in the water. hate
your fingers
for a few months.
and adore your hands.
--An Kim
Poem of the
Waxing Summer
for
An Kim
We speak of nacre nights
w/moon no higher than the nape of the neck
the city imposed upon herself
violent water in closed jar
the outer hovelling
of fire
warmth positing herself
complete, upon a shelf
a gold & blue globe
I
am a bellows
full with blowing
winds that ne'er crept across the floor
to flute the child’s naked brown lashes
the busting of vessels
& the clothing of hawks
the shatter of her laugh
against wood aimlessly light
the sky pale & taunt
moves a blue persimmon.
jmf-w 30 mar 77
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