I thought I’d love a Chinese man
for we both taste what becomes blander, the father it ripples –
the peppercorn in gong bao chicken

and freedom. It’s in the air here.
Back home freedom is packed in helium balloons,
something to let go of in an applause. Or, a stagger of cannon firing in
front of the Forbidden Palace.
Like a stagger of cannon firing.

Then you watch it wobble higher and smaller
smaller and higher
up into the ether
until it disappears
and becomes air.