After Three Chinese Poems

for Mr. Cong 

One word tied to another word — that is all 
You know. No cherryblossoms. In this world 
The hospice workers visit the dead child. 
His lack of a voice startles the sleeping words. 

This world, fold upon fold. 
Is there a better title for it? 
Letting Go, Griefwork, Brightness Falls from the Air, 
All the Angels Were There. She said it. 

All night I think about my sister. 
Galileo plunged into Jupiter. 
O clear poetry! 

No dust tonight.