LEO KANG BEEVERS
First Prize - 2022 Tower Poetry Competition, 'Dream'
As a Moment Glimpsed Only Through Migration
Not knowing how to order their lives if not
by burning, they moved from room
to room. If there was something more than that
taking hold, deep where the dreamer can’t touch,
I couldn’t say. Outside, as usual, little resistance
at the flesh. Having reaped the lightning, they bound it
steadily and with tenderness, endless, rain
frailing the afterthought. Then winter, already. Then dew
along the windows. A still-flowering maple branch,
which is to say an artform, of their survival. The wild geese
have escaped from their paintings—feel the wound. As if
painting is nothing more than the sound the sky makes
in hunger. Paletteless. As if even that was enough
to live in. The hands you fell into were the colour
of cut stems. Or the raw, unbitten blue
their wings turn to, before they heal.