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Leaving Taichung<br />
Station<br />
Bob Black<br />
一 一 Yi-Yi<br />
台 灣 : The Raindrop in her Ear<br />
May they remember their days uncording<br />
as the sea secrets in his eyes a lifetime of turns, tactile<br />
Yushan raindrops jade her ear, silver shells awaiting the rhyme in the wave of the ocean’s netting<br />
a braid socking each-to-each, ankles and toes snucktuck on the beach<br />
the food they fingered as flora and fauna upon a table of entwined driftwood and bone, each other<br />
grass, light lanterned, wordfever,<br />
fear’s flight tracking mouths which recalls the world, accordioning<br />
the lights harbouring on the shoulders of the Pacific’s distance, New Territories<br />
alone in a breached moment as boulders above slip their purchase,<br />
it may be their hearts or an unbuckling<br />
“your stitching unbelted me” he scribbled “and loosened time,”<br />
“your tongue wagging long in its linger, unsure!” she snapped back.<br />
What is gone in the untying of 10,000 minutes?<br />
What was to be gone?<br />
What was once lost in the language, together<br />
remains still Rhodophyt on the rock, loamy and aquatic<br />
abundance of absented time and the wind that pricks their spines under the soft breath of tiderivers,<br />
leaving<br />
unlost and rounding, an oxbow of dream and beveled circumstance,<br />
calamity forever bound.<br />
Yet there along the whorl of the island’s margins, they remain arched in privation’s embrace,<br />
dexterous, irreducible and concomitant in their arms, in their shackles and their waving<br />
forlong.
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