after Li-Young Lee
the hurricane lamp
in our house is electric,
so it goes out as the tornado
passes by.
but the flashlight on my phone
breaks the darkness
so I can read:
you must sing to be found—
the hurricane lamp lights up again—
when found, you must sing.
Sure, I can sing
emptiness is
the mother of all things—
a song from the fortune
cookie you keep
inside your phone case.
I can question,
but you will still believe it.
One of those
inexplicable things.
I unplug the hurricane lamp—
darkness, emptiness.
So, I sing it again
emptiness is the mother of all things—
and it starts to make sense.
But then,
the phone rings.