Phan Nhien Hao

The man leans a summer ladder

on a moon approaching the eclipse

A car discharges blue smoke

into the daily exhaustion

And biological concerns

gape like fish eyes under ice in the ship's hold

without enough oil to reach the horizon where a rainbow bends down

        to drink sea water.


The man and the moon sink down to sleep with seaweeds

on a mist-less morning without milk and eggs

without anyone wearing a bronze name tag to open the hotel door

        ringing a bell

August slowly moves South

on a road redolent of cow manure with threeway intersections

pouncing from abandoned houses

From the picture frame with broken glass there remains

a child's smile. Between the Moon and Seaweeds


Translated from the Vietnamese
by Linh Dinh
http://www.theliteraryreview.org/s2005/hao.html
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