DESPERATION (AFTER LI PO)
by GEORGE FREEK

Tonight the moon is like

an ancient scholar,

whose face is distraught

with fruitless thoughts.

As if for a cane, he fumbles

toward a star, but it’s too far.

I collapse into my bed.

A jumble of dark clouds

circle like hungry

ravens over my head.

With a cry of fear,

a dove disappears into

this ominous night.

Trees stand like statues

in the somber darkness,

which have no wish to stay,

but are unable to go away.