String Theory
– Ed Bok Lee

As a boy, I chose a beach ball
with a metal chopstick
over food & grown-ups
What wouldn’t float away
despite any mouth
Some things choose us
Waking in a best friend’s coffin
Falling asleep in a too-thin language
The slow, inward draw of a lover’s
draining dream
Feathery rain that will never land
Sweet dry leaf sage translucent silver-
fish flee still dispatching oceans
Each time I burn the world pure
When the Lord created the sun
shadows unfastened themselves
Let there be the mature mind
Some things won’t return
Let there be the unquenchable sea
Let there be an infant somewhere, always
in the city night, refusing to obey
He will speak through scissors
He will collect infinitely useless string
He will fashion a kind of belief
in subtraction’s eloquence

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For more information on Ed Bok Lee, please click here: www.edboklee.com
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