Bee Wing & John are in like & it’s a stair well infat uation. John: Look, I found ixora, flower of giving itself & still very much self. Bee Wing: Beauty always promises, but never gives anything. Bee Wing: steal away under the table grand fathers play chess around, see their knees & know giving, see their feet & know very much self. Stair wells are angular your eyes are round & mid night blue table w/ stark square of chess? Is both. Repeated errors in the survey form are intentional Mr. Mohamed lives at Mandarin Gardens & always is asking for fish, folds hands & twists fingers, like fish, quickly & darting, like eyes— five grand children & counting, always, like marbles. Once marbles clattered on his kitchen tiles, they are not metaphorical, the condominium, however, is—— Mr. Mohamed several times daily cups fish eye fingers & has them to float in the sink. Marbles are not metaphorical. They are journalistic. Considering what is more, much more grave than in the light, Cassandra shouts on the roundabout, wants the head lines five years from now: this round about shall be same, houses still houses & people, frag ments of mind in each other’s mind, still—— air always this constant thickness of green & the rain, predictably. Cassandra shouts: THE WORLD WILL NEVER END Don’t believe her. From now on, every thing will be different. A thousand faint sounds, breaths of wind, warmth of sun could not imagine fullness of what it was, like likeness thereof such shaking trees & prickly grasses, the search for a sudden ness suddenly sprawling, such opposites to the shy grass curling at each opportunity, of touch, this assertion that demands “attention in full, what I am owed” & always is much the quivering tree calmed by an inch of cow grass, a hill, a mountain, stream delta, isle plain—— affection this mangrove fish, such velvet rejoicing, that time I sobbed into Irfan’s elbow & up here air’s no thinner— pebbles make the flat difficult pebble in the pocket fly in the ear The leap of the wave / whiter / each hour / greener to my surprise, honesty is possible. Dryness unbearable. little hill in your hand, gathering sweat——
Tse Hao Guang (謝皓光) is a Singaporean poet and editor. His first full-length poetry collection, Deeds of Light, was shortlisted for the 2016 Singapore Literature Prize. His work also appears in Hotel, Asian American Writers' Workshop, Entropy, Third Coast, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere. He is a 2016 fellow of the University of Iowa's International Writing Program, and the 2018 National Writer-in-Residence at Nanyang Technological University.