polemic for spring

and there you are among
the lemon groves
of Srimongol, trailing through
the jackfruit trees

your hands cut
and bleeding from jagged
pineapple leaves
you don’t know how to handle

sit with me in the dawn, watch me
peel the pineapple, flavor it
with lemon and papaya, brew for you
a delicate tea

its scented steam will rise
before your face
calm like the Arakan hills
drowsing blue beyond the river

and together in sleep we will float
on a bamboo raft
over a green pool ringed
with betel palms and warbler song

listen well now
the children are laughing
in the lemon grove