after seeing my face dimly reflected in a tang dynasty mirror, i remembered…
— john mateer
yesterday on the Turbo Jet across the Tejo to Macau, the blaze
of mist and the sampans and freighters and caravels
were that inhalation proceeding song, prior to even the ideal
voice, that reversed sigh by which Being becomes just a phase,
an utterance, nascent, never intended to amaze.