Oasis
BY ARTHUR SZE
A tiny spider crawls across the lit screen
of a laptop: what does it make of the world?
Men chisel flagstone and form a stepped patio;
soon a “for sale” sign will hang at the street.
Sleeping on my back, I snore then turn
to my side; in the morning you hum before
showering. In the afternoon, long lines
of rain vanish before striking the ground,
but we are not distraught; a black morel
rises in a garden; orange blossoming daylilies
arc near a half-spherical stone fountain.
Water murmurs in the basin before it spills
over the edge; before morning spills over
the edge, sunrise makes lakes between clouds.
