city park

after all we are merely chasing an invention,

a body created in the image of an iris

the same way we force the earth to be round.

the romantics call it remnant but we know better,

we inscribe temporality onto tombstone beneath our feet

as vehicle to hold memory beneath this

city and

he said      nothing but

water caligraphy

the roots reach deep into the curve and entangle

at the core where clarity is still

to perfume green.

after all we only see from the ends of sticks charring as incense

at the grave of  ‘remnant’ as the fingertips of

black smoke leave whorled reminders on the same water

in a body of round earth

i said

created like an iris.

shishkabob

Posted by:jasmine

Jasmine is an editor, poet, and community arts organizer. She comes to poetry by way of Chinese music. This blog is a mapping of ways.

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