Charles Wright(b. 1935)
Chinese Journal
In 1935, the year I was born,
Giorgio Morandi4
Penciled these bottles in by leaving them out, letting
The presence of what surrounds them increase the presence
Of what is missing,
keeping its distance and measure.
The purple-and-white spike plants
stand upright and spine-laced,
As though poised to fight by keeping still,
Inside their bristly circle,
The dwarf boxwood
flashes its tiny shields at the sun.
Under the skylight, the Pothos 0 plantclimbing shrub
Dangles its fourteen arms
into the absence of its desire.
Like a medusa in the two-ply, celadon5 air,
Its longing is what it grows on,
heart-leaves in the nothingness.
To shine but not to dazzle.
Falling leaves, falling water,
everything comes to rest.
What can anyone know of the sure machine that makes all things
work
To find one word and use it correctly,
providing it is the right word,
Is more than enough:
An inch of music is an inch and a half of dust.