goodness (ii)

goodness (ii)

Jonathan Chan

in a land of plenty,
the storms came and passed
in a squall. the corpulent moon,
irradiated, was masked by
a burst of wind, a spray
of mist. to be accustomed to
moisture in a city of rain
is to access a deep and
tremulous peace. the drying
comes only in cool rooms.
there is no ground fallowing
beneath the layers of concrete
and steel. you watch the party
die in the lights and glasses
around you. goodness demands
gratitude. to strain each day
toward blessing is the finest
response to the mercy
of dawn. you are suffused
by an existential heat.
the curdling of night imputes a
resistance. these are notes against
giving up. the sacred space
is where the coals are
heaped, like briquettes
to kindle your neighbour’s
fires in harsh winters. you
break a fragrance against
the floor. it lingers from
death to death, from life
to life. pure. it longs to be
something pure. load the sacks
of grain and send them across
the sands. in the season of
goodness there is only
the irrationality
of weeping.

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Jonathan Chan
Poet & Author

Jonathan is the author of going home and the forthcoming poetry collection bright sorrow (Landmark Books) and has been published in The Rumpus and Minarets.

Photography by Michiel Annaert