Albert Kivak

I ride your smooth crevasse
inside the budding petals of
dark horsemen.

Aplomb, roasted, pan-fired,
grounded over a licking flame
brewing its dewdrop pearl
misty earth swept by teeming rain

unfold her catechins like curtains
in front of halogen projector
as mint rises over a ravine
hundreds of faces curl within artillery walls,

which guard against oxidants
free radicals relieved of their stress
fragrant white blossom in
the spring slows the aging process.

We spend two hours of the day
invested, not moving, still
placing our hopes and dreams
behind smoke screen, liquid jade

spotlight stabbing in the pitch darkness
heart beating, for thousands of years
passed on as human entertainment
only to realize these characters are life-arts
and we feel

the pangs of grief, laughter,
pain, joy; we feel
the brush of humanity tickling across
our fingertips as we lift
the cup to our lips
and drink elixir.