Poem Boxes
Poem Box #2: White Bud-detail
copper, enamel, paper
2 x 5 x 4
1985
I had to step over him
on a crowded street in Bangkok;
his face was flat against the concrete.
Wherever his bony flesh
protruded from his filthy clothes,
flies clustered at open sores.
The only indication he was still alive
was an arm that jutted out,
so twisted up from underneath him
I couldn't tell if it was right or left,
its upturned palm
spread open out before me.
The one white bud
was swollen to the point of bursting,
when suddenly it broke open
with a tiny sucking sound,
not unlike a kiss.