The prognosis for unrest
is poor, says the pendulum traveler
(he’s swung here before).
Longer than months stretching
to noon, longer than putting words
to a tune.
安慰 (an wei)
When light pooled
the camber of your palm
and your quiet laugh dipped a reprieve, a catching net,
fullness to cheek hollow –
I couldn’t help it. Your candour was
embodied / your words fading /
our rhythm softly a morning moon.
Modi Deng is currently studying Piano and English at Auckland University. She has read for The Open Book in Ponsonby and has been published in Issues 3 and 4 of Starling. Her favourite writers are Gabriel García Márquez and Alice Munro.