Li Bai and Du Fu, two poets
who have never been through

my kitchen, crest then reside
on recent earth, scratching

out claims to stand above, scrub-
bing away at some tumult, a whole

afternoon long drinking in Heaven,
fighting back and against black

Plutonic dogs; ‘Where do the chilly
winds don’t blow?’ remains an out-

standing question; Halving answers
to figure easily into the ferment

of a solution.