Running in the Rain along Little Guilin
It’s damp these days and the undergrowth lush, green,
Overflowing, sharp to the eye against a black sky,
Seems to whisper Conrad and Maugham and you are forced
To refocus on every step in front of you on early evening runs,
Below the slow streak of pale commuter trains to Gombak
And Jurong and the frenetic zones of business further ahead,
While giving Little Guilin a wide berth which is a shame-
But then again, there is only so much to see with your back
To the glass, a constraint none of us have as we pick up speed
Along the crescent shore of the lake and pound the tree pavilions
Passing bus-stops empty, cold and dripping to the touch.
Life is compressed in cities, steaming slowly to the march of clocks.
Those long loops under thunderous skies, over slippery concrete,
Along park, temple, flower beds, creepers, snails, silvery waters
Past granite, fish-hunting eagles and wedding shoots in the mud,
Onward to the brief prettiness of Hill View
Are hours when we stop everything
Other than the beat of our senses against the fragile flesh we live in.
