My Body, Separate
Shing Yi Ng
From the mind, swept as in a gust,
Rocks like the grass on the precipice
Of your name, wrought in the paths
That lightly beasts tread, fetching
One from mythic life to the peak
Of ravening travelling must.
From the truth, rapt as if a reverie
Ensues from loss, as if longing
Propitiates absence, echoed
In the silence that realizes its own
Bleak never, the quandary of flesh
That culls beginnings from ends.