1. fu bao's constellation
The arrival of the monsoon―

warring tribes forced south

the black-back frogs returned.

She heard the rounded cluck

of their swollen throats.

Jade slippered-feet

down eighty-nine steps

the heat of the day

still on the temple wall.
Then the light, the light,

the holy light

flaming the valley

silenced frogs all at once

struck Fu Bao

out of abstraction

a luminous sting

circling from behind

the throne of seven stars

white light that broke

into pieces

and travelled the ground

to charge at corpuscles

charging like Henan stallions

rearing up, arrived soft-hoofed

at the stable door

of her blood chamber.
She collected only red and

white stars that night

threaded them loosely

around her waist

felt them reach up

for her breast, down

to the tiger grotto.
 
2. women would believe
First month―

The seamstress teased

insisted she would stitch

Fu Bao's eyes closed

if she did not

dream of dandelions

taken to the sky

by a benevolent wind.
Second month―

The wild-storm girl with

bleeding gums whispered

pluck the blue feathers

of kingfishers

weave them into a seal

the shape of peach flowers.

Live in a quiet residence

undisturbed by males.
Third month―

For a son

practice shooting arrows

an old woman's counsel

smooth river-rocks falling

from her apron

offered as apples.
Fourth month―

Unknown woman;

do not eat rabbit.
Fifth month―

The widow who beat

her daughters said

stay away from strangers.
Sixth month―

All the nodding bent-double

field-women agreed that

to make the child's spine strong

go to the country side

and look at wild horses.
Seventh month―

Insistent, her mother

would not let her bathe

in the morning under

dripping eaves

in her qing-blue tub

or at any time.
Eighth month―

She was told

by the six-nippled fox

who surrendered the family's chickens

avoid grimacing

or shouting.
Ninth month―

When the melon is ripe

it will fall off the vine

sung her grandmother

like a yellow bird

as she snuffed

the evening candles.
 
3. firebird
Lei Zu never saw the mountain

open its twilight belly

to release the firebird into the sky.

They said that giant creature

with her grandfather's brow

wings like a horizon cloud

tail of spinning planets

eyes of winter sun

sent from heaven only

in times of greatest fortune.
It hovered the valley

above her ancestor's fields

as she peered into the throat

of a snow-bud

tiny horns rearing back

to slap a late-summer missile

onto a bee.
A fisherman said

the bird visited the river

to slake the bell flowers

of honeysuckle

that ignited the embankment.

Flowers, wind-loving

in the last gloaming light.

She noticed their pink-quiver

their swollen skirts.
And how all flowers

appeared as virtues

peonies in faithful sway

the wu-wei of dragonheads

violet-hued rehmannia and the courage

of their blood-quickening tubers

clustered, dusk-spells

in meadow grass.
The first time the bird appeared

did she ask how much of life

is spent in waiting?

as it landed silent

on the empress tree

displaced two leafs

goose-breast almost reachable

seemed to blow away the clouds

enough fading sun

to brighten up

the gaps between its feathers

a repousse of cerulean

unfaded reds, bijou ochres

beyond her acquaintance

of colour or form.

Then it was gone.
Her betrothed smiled

as Lei Zu's story panted its drama

from beautiful spaces

between her lips

like the plum-blossom

he saw that day

taken by the wind

graceful, announcing

its own history.
 
4. lei zu & the discovery of silk
Was it a hand that released her sash

or the wind that swept it eastward?

It fell like a snake

landed like an arrow aimed at the river.
Did her gown open in its own time

or did the peaks of her breast-points swell

to breathful bounty, that all clothes

became possibly impossible?
His fingertips like butterfly antennae

lifting in plucked suspension

considered all surface options

testing the layers outside of thought.
On a leaf above, one worm

a winged-cloud stuck in its throat

cocked its head, praised her behind its eye

yet the mystery of adoration

too difficult for the air of its short life

returned to its patch.
It took four seasons of waiting

before the catkins' spores

quick-shot faster than a trilling flute note

to thicken the air, swirling

as if discharged by

the pulse-beat of bodies,

dust-motes unpressured

in an uninstructed breeze.
That day it was said

an unceremonious cocoon

fell into her teacup opening its twine

to find her finger,

a billowing strand trailing

from a chrysanthemum sea

―a song for her emperor―

thread-written on blue sky
Like a night jar, I tremble in flight

follow a stream from Kunlun mountain

to the dark river's mouth

I ask the dawn hidden in reeds

to renounce honour

withhold its flame to keep you here.
What was the sun's collaboration?

Only the hearsay of doves

on a mulberry bough

doves that refused gossip,

yet Lei Zu stitched their beaks

on his battle coat

her visionary silk-armour,

to madden

the four-headed stone-eating beast.