Li Po Loved Two Things

Li Po loved two things: waterfalls and drinking

when the emperor summoned him

he was drunk in a bar

worn like these stones

water rushes past me

branches and trunks form dams

          those leaning-together houses

                                                            the fish stocks disappearing

a tree standing still in the flooded creek

I left because there were whole towns without work

houses worth less than the water heater

fishing hamlets without roads

houses clustered around the docks

docks clustered around the fish houses

we were a generation that shipped out

there are a thousand songs about us

sung by those who stayed

a mist-damp coat

the lingering blue dusk

are they counting us?

                                   Basho looking down over the falls

                                                                 in another country

                                                              hundreds of years later

picking flowers for Li Po

            if this is the middle path

            if I had to fight

            if I were called to court

            I’d fight with sticks

            with ice-cold water, with direct sunlight

            with reckless wind-spun seeds, the outer edge of a kite tail

            the fairgrounds, the spinning teacups

if I had to pick two things to love

fish don’t have ears

but they make love songs to find other fish

water is eight hundred times more dense than air

the body of a fish is as dense as water

they don’t hear sound waves, they absorb them