Kai Yan, Joseph Wong, "Jasminum Polyanthum," 2011
There was no sense of self at mile 3—just breath,
and cadence, and wordless conversation between
the hips and spine regarding dance. A few spiders
raveling the lake’s edge, catching nothing save for
cast shadows and drops of sweat. Salvia, punching
red holes in the budding green. A body, this body
spelling “go!” in branched-chain letters, chemical
phonemes, until a fugitive sweetness—jasmine?—
jacks the motor chain, slows it with each in-breath,
until a self can be assembled to memorize a scent.
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