It is 9:50 a.m. here in Changchun, China
in the distant light of mid-May
on a plane to Shenzhen
while everyone I know
sleeps nine hours behind me
along the abyss of California coastline

Usually in need of a solitary morning
I read a poem worth living for
or the occasional email
with words taking their time
to interpret feeling

but this silence is deafening
the anticipation of 400 eyes
upon any movement of my hands
the words I can hear
but only long to understand

I turn to her
so full of question
”Ni shuo yingwen ma?”
her head cocks to one side
her fingers glide the length of
her straight black hair
her smile in unison with laughter
to let me know
there are no words

Out the window
there is a small cloud
I think I have seen before
that once rained promises
over a paradise
of being so alone
and sometimes you have to go this far
to get anywhere else