Witness the facsimile unfolding before the banyan:
F oscillating under rainclouds, her reflection streaked
like stalks of red ginger. The man crisp, eyes a creased roadmap
concealing his loss. He walks with no apology.
She is struck by his self-possession.
F transmits unbound electrons with her eyelids, playful,
to the tune of the attraction of opposites. He records
his days, asleep. Foreign films accent the crossing of her legs,
the effect highlighted by her failure to see
Tiresias, frozen in time, a halved man who tipped his cap,
tapped his cane, and vanished
into the shadow of silver ions stolen from the earth,
his mind filled with the keen of birdsong.
Now, wild idea to unravel the patriarch’s riddle:
he’d propose. What if —
Stop, he ordered himself. The visionary wings spoke of other things.
Elosham Vog came of age in the surreal spaces of the American midwest and west coast. He now lives and writes in China. He is currently editing his first verse novel, ‘Volcano’; Volcano poems have appeared in a variety of places including Lighthouse, The Interpreter’s House, and The Istanbul Review, as well as, previously, The Missing Slate.