No, not musk ox—carrying massive coat
like a charred haystack crowned by gray mangled
wolfskin—letting its mating perfume float
as lethal ether. Nor barely angled
horns of Asian water ox—notched, stretched freight
like dark dragon boats—their bearer wading
through muddy Yangtze while towns celebrate
its fabled fate. But I speak of fading
blue onyx trinket—my personal feng
shui—I place in my bedroom’s south corner,
its twin above my front door. And this ring
of sardonyx I display on border
of my nightstand. Surely these, and gold box
filled with fu, bring love this Year of the Ox.
Roger Armbrust
February 19, 2009
