The mountain children murmur into the ripples,
as their mother paints your visage on festival paper.
Lotus rafts in the current, pink and feather small,
careen in the dips of infant mountains drowned.
The flowers slip into the dark fingers of your daughter,
child of the dragon king, eyes as keen as her father’s claws.
Her lips are cleaned of the sticking, ripened juice of mangoes
by a tiny tongue that darts out, scaly lizard along the riverbank.
Gathered into a basket, the petals fold and sigh into one another,
searching for embraces, sinking with their damp weight,
waiting to be strewn like a fractured rainbow in the clouds
when the dragon’s lost sons sound the call for their fisher sister.
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A/N Aish, it's been ages since I've been around YWS. Forgive me for just throwing a piece here! I promise I'll critique back if you ask for one. Also, does anyone know where I'd go to check out definitions of each forum? I can't remember the differences between lyric and dramatic poetry, that's how long I've been gone.
