Wei Tai Ting-II

Quicksand

 

 

People rarely drown

in quicksand, though

 

that does not make

it any easier to escape.

 

The soil, liquefied, loses

strength, unable to bear

 

an individual’s weight,

much less ground

 

the pointed ambition

of a hefty skyscraper.

 

Even the most intrepid

are sucked into its warm,

 

mucky grip. Do not panic.

Or move fast. For you

 

will only sink deeper.

The right way to leave

 

is not defiance, exerting

a force straight against

 

the earth. A slow insidious shudder

to the side, supine, better

 

suits the sand. Recall

the basic rule of math:

 

parallel lines never

intersect. Think of this

 

as your back lies, tensed

on this liminal membrane,

 

neither liquid nor solid. Sense

relief at your deft manoeuvres

 

but pity the water, trapped

between the layers. To escape

 

one must turn insubstantial,

rise to skies as thin vapour.

 

 

But beware clusters,

or clouds will form,

 

aiming intentions downwards

to the tender quicksand of home.

 

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