qarrtsiluni

I used to think you’re solid,
as I’m: like petals that
speak to the colourblind, or the ice
refusing to melt under the fatherly sun.

But I see you can be
the mucus on a toad,
or the flakes on a skating
ground, to be incised by
silvery blades. You give the Octobering
touch, or you’re the touch in October.
I see your desire evaporate.

Passing,
falling petals on a running river,
which delivers lovers.
Solid is about solidarity.
This is the first time I learn from
water and feel sorry for ice.

by Nicholas YB Wong

Read by Roger Phang — Download the MP3