Showers with Isolated Thunderstorms, Summer, 2018

In my recollection, I try to pierce through those eyes, the gaze

Desperately grouping for something.

Give it a word. A name, a gesture, a signal. Anything.

Lest I see no spark, only banal politeness in it.

I condensed my memories into clouds,

Clung to them, held on them, grabbed them,

As if dangling would keep me safe from the empty sky,

Even if I knew they were only vapour.

Until one day, the rain washed me down.

Falling through the sky, I conjured up those eyes, the gaze

Nothing but blandness, blankness, bleakness...

I bumped, and bled, but felt my own weight once again.

Picture strangling or poisoning

Fancy the gaze dying, eyes dilating

I start to pull off my scabs

Blood whirls out of the pink flesh.

Scratching down pieces and pieces

Tearing myself from myself

Until I shed all the skin

I look at it with shame and disgust, and discard it.

But I can't help looking back, lingering around it

Although these pitiful scraps are no longer me

As if they might tell something, anything

To delay my walk through the void.

The sky rises, or say, retreats.

A thin thread of smoke dances and, puff,

Beads burst out. On, on they roll,

Never to be retrieved.

(photo taken on 5 June 2018 in Shatin, after tidying up dead plants)