planet earth—this day 

two o'clock

tree-tops chill the sun

_

"I was born at the birth of blossoms,

born when all the gardens grew,

on so very soft a morning,

on a morning April-blue.

So I'm Rosa—"

—Rosalia de Castro

translated by John Fredrick Nims 

_

The Christening

There are no children named November.

None, at least, that I know.

Are sunny days so pallid, chill and few

That not a one can bear the name?

Does the notion of impending winter

Dispel the possibility of a namesake?

Does the word itself spell something cold

About the heart, frost about the soul?

I know one whose name was bestowed

Too lightly, too generously with hope, 

Ill-suited to his nature. I renounce 

My name, and wish to be more true

To what I know. Like Ishmael I choose 

A name to suit myself. Call me November. 

_

Autumn Evening Beside the Lake

by the poetess Li Ch’ing Chao  

1084-1155 A.D.

translated by Kenneth Rexroth

Wind passes over the lake.

The swelling waves stretch away

Without limit. Autumn comes with the twilight,

And boats grow rare on the river.

Flickering waters and fading mountains

Always touch the heart of man.

I never grow tired of singing

Of their boundless beauty.

The lotus pods are already formed,

And the water lilies have grown old.

The dew has brightened the blossoms 

Of the arrowroot along he riverbank.

The herons and seagulls sleep

On the sand with their 

Heads tucked away, as though

They did not wish to see

The men pass by on the river.

_

leaves (breeze accompanied by the rattle of dry leaves)

as each floats away

and down

i recount   or am recounted

sometimes in words written

in letters of goodbye

or in words never spoken but thought

some with regret

some with inevitability

a trail of sorts is left behind   

never truly left behind

no more than any thought may be   

they follow   they tug   they scold   they recriminate

never left behind, truly left behind

the rattle of passing thoughts