Poems by Dan Bellm

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Morning Beijing

by Dan Bellm

From Canary Spring 2010

Dan lives in the Mission Creek watershed of San Francisco.

Desert sand from the north
And fine coal-grit blow into our eyes;

They leave a fine layer
Over the market stalls and walks.

Gold-black rain of prosperity:
We take it into our lungs.

At the edge of the little park,
The mynahs hung in tight cages from low branches

Refrain from song.
I take a turn in the path to find shelter,

Step over a threshold the way one wards off
An unquiet ghost. No birds at all

In the upper air.
Even the Emperor’s garden,

The houses and cars of the bankers and party bosses,
Are covered in this dust.




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