Six

You will be

entering from that door

At exactly six in the evening.

But my day had started

Twelve hours earlier

My mind had been racing

On how to spend the minutes

Before you step in from that door.

Between the soap suds of laundry

And stinging aroma of onions

I find my being restless

As the weather of Yuen Long

 I wish that knowing my fate

Is as simple as those maps and signs

You had taught me of using.

Should I be here? Or there?

Answers revealed

In alien calligraphy

Written on red columns

Of temples and walls.

 Perhaps

Believing in the warmth of your palm

During the biting midnight rains

Or your smile

Despite the steaming heat of the roof

Tells me

That the door you are about to open this evening

Is also the door I should be entering

But sooner than 6 pm.

 

5 May 2008. 5:26 pm. At our new flat.