N  a  p a  l  m     H  e  a  l  t  h     S  p  a  :     R  e  p  o  r  t     2  0  0  7

 

 

WANG PING

 

 

Liquid Glass

 

He beckons her into the basementgranite, albasa, marble, green chertskeletons of
organisms hardened with silicic acid

 

So thin is the inner wall of glass

No grain of sand seeps in

 

Red magma cools then hardens into rocks; rocks crumble into stones, stones into sand,
sand into soil, then back to rocks at the bottom of the sea

 

Pebble: a billion-year-old crossroad

Wedged between toes

 

Trees repeat trees

We repeat history

Shards of twilight

Sail across deep blue moss

 

He sprays water to retrieve ghosts from the oxidized face

 

The sea is rising

The sea is rising

 

That feeling of stone in hand...that smell…groundmass polished to colored shapes
...accumulation of strata slumbering under dark forests…miraculous sculpture from
waves…that breathing of minerals…ocean of summer light…order of the universe
locked in stones…impossible to say…but

 

The earth still goes on

 

As the window stands like a mirror

Its glass falling into a puddle

 

Through the millennium