Against Dying  (Chun Jie in Oranswell)

I step out silent at six am
into the sacred rapture of cataclysmic dawn
the insane revelry of all these birds
celebrates my arrival with seed.
Robins gather round me as I turn the earth.

On such a morning we might forget
this is a dying world.
My little forest breathes out to me
and the stream beside intones
its ancient secrets never ending.

Back inside Lin prepares porridge
sends and receives 
greetings to Beijing.
It is their dinner time
and they gather in love.
They fill and wrap dumplings
to drop in steaming pots 
until these symbols of eternity
float to the top.

This little picture of our blessed lives
is only that
no word of god from mountain lugged.
It has all been said already, yes, 
but I will speak again against oblivion.