invocation

	i will go				
	up					
	into the mountains		
	the empty spaces		you will go down 
	where the wind			to the city
	shuddering			a small room a 
	through quaking			single chair a
	aspen				screech of 
	is the only			police or
	conversation			ambulance
					and occasional
	the air so clear		gunshots
	and bright at 
	dawn				the waves against
	the sky every 			the city shore
	shade of gold			the temptation
	the peaks sharp			to walk beside 
	like knives			them in the dark
	the wind cold			at night
	and startling			when your mind
					is racing
	in the silence
	poems are			the constant 
	writing themselves		thudding
	on crisp 			waves lines bodies
	white sheets			exploding
					on the pages 
	i remember
	the city			you remember
					me.


	*****
	M.A. Mohanraj
	April 4, 2000

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