you see through me
and I through you
and father, too
has always been that way
the limits of my sight
being cradled in the Shanghai night
when
outside, teeming masses flowed through
the black wet shine of asphalt
like ants en route to the mound they cannot see
…while you and father created me
after,
with the curtains tipping on the sill
and the warm wind calling
but not knowing your names
he blew smoke into the Asian night
while you watched the grey placentate plumes
swirl sweetly to the stained ceiling
adorning its placid plaster with mystic memories
and the forbidden scents I will never smell
for you and he would never tell
what rhythmic rhymes you made
with the masses plodding along
oblivious to your milky movements
while they stirred in another darkness