Ge0rge Wu

Yin,

you are the moon,

a circle of white layered with platinum,

emitting a smoky and transparent aura.

Yang,

you are the sun,

an entity of blazing colors draped over each other,

We were rising.

With every thread tied together, by those who wanted to catch hold —

Those with knotted breath and clasped hands 

Weaving together a dream, cast out into a sea of stars —

Child, your future is best left unspoiled, so I may be too vague, or not vague enough. Don’t be afraid of  the contents within this letter . . .

I await you in the open grass.

The rolling plains roam my mind.

Dark-swept winds claw the horizon,

Damp with the promises you left unanswered.

Meet me at the River’s End

where waters slow and sink

where bank gives way to the bottomless depths

below the siren’s screams

Meet me in the Mountain Shade