Minor Transgressions
Every time I forgot to wrap
my being
harder around love, so as to discover
a deeper love. The hours I squandered
without a note of poetry in my head,
gazing at the nonchalant moon.
Disregarding the light in a flickering
leaf; absorbing instead the dark
soul of a tree after a storm’s abuse.
Not playing the songs to restore the self,
so as to carry my misery a little longer.
The mirror takes it all in:
a doorway filling with light
until a balance between world
and glass is perfect.
2
Something stays hidden beyond
its frame: a hand lost, hovering
up a lover’s arched back, freed
from the mirror’s narrow capture.
3
Even if you kept very still,
the portrait you take in
remains unfinished. Yet no artist
may ever know you better.
4
Then some days you come back
a distorted echo. You make do
with the mirror’s half-truths,
its broken promises, its silence.
5
When you forget that it is there,
a mirror can pounce like a single
headlight and run you down.
In any case, you will survive.
6
Bear its glass hold for a moment
longer, and the self swims
to a vanishing point at the end
of your eyes, gone and free.
harder around love, so as to discover
a deeper love. The hours I squandered
without a note of poetry in my head,
gazing at the nonchalant moon.
Disregarding the light in a flickering
leaf; absorbing instead the dark
soul of a tree after a storm’s abuse.
Not playing the songs to restore the self,
so as to carry my misery a little longer.
A Single Headlight
1The mirror takes it all in:
a doorway filling with light
until a balance between world
and glass is perfect.
2
Something stays hidden beyond
its frame: a hand lost, hovering
up a lover’s arched back, freed
from the mirror’s narrow capture.
3
Even if you kept very still,
the portrait you take in
remains unfinished. Yet no artist
may ever know you better.
4
Then some days you come back
a distorted echo. You make do
with the mirror’s half-truths,
its broken promises, its silence.
5
When you forget that it is there,
a mirror can pounce like a single
headlight and run you down.
In any case, you will survive.
6
Bear its glass hold for a moment
longer, and the self swims
to a vanishing point at the end
of your eyes, gone and free.
Ekleksographia #1
January 2009
Poems
Cyril Wong
Cyril Wong is the author of seven poetry books and he lives in Singapore. His most recent collection, Tilting Our Plates To Catch The Light (firstfruits publications), was listed by The Straits Times as among the best five books of 2007.