we do not deserve the beauty we receive

we do not deserve the beauty we receive

Jonathan Chan

the dew has begun to form,
light refracted in each drop
resting on each pine. it is the womb
of morning, and the clouds turn
in the peeling of colour.
the pink, as if brushed, blends
into the shifting of grey
and blue, edges dulled
by the mist. the sun is
a single magenta spot, rippling into
emergence. the fog shrouds
the forest and eats into the bases
of the mountains. it covers
the plantations, portioned into
squares. i understand
something of those poets
of mist, always folded into
its rolling and unfurling. what
is a single person to the
indifference of the mountains?
figures proceed across the rocky
ridges. all this light we cannot
perceive forms a mirror to the
infinity of the heart. removing a
glove, my fingers skim the cold
smoothness of a stump.
voices chatter. how they wish
the trees did not obscure
the view. i stood, as if at the
centre of a palm, slowly enveloped
by each finger.

---

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 Karolina Grabowska