by Abraham de la Torre
It wasn’t that Beijing is like Hong Kong
in aspects far from comfortable to hold
as source of calm when it has been too long
since I.T. took its respite without word.
The button is imagined if at all
unpressed however thoughts aloud are rife
and begging seemingly for a discourse
on what theories may supply concern
to ebb its escalation to a dread
instead. Nil is the answer. As in none.
And nothing really substitutes the rise
of sheer surprise for a discovery
of place and people and the peace of mind
erasing least anxieties behind
the early on was luggage in excess
of bare provisions made surfeit by welcome
smiles. The packing still unpacked can wait
till after fond recall of memory
harks back to origin and those who worry
why the telling takes a mite too late
and smiles again surface. And both ends meet
and magnify the mischief born out of
bizarre imaginings, imagined threats
the mind, because the eye can’t see, expects
unnecessarily, perhaps, and yet
this is what loving and of love consists –
the wart and wonder of the worrier
and, too, the worried over to complete.
