Above the satellite city
crawling with vertical architecture, mountain monkeys
defy the knock-out blow.
The emerald valley,
with Summer’s profligate monsoon storms
second by second the awesome inaudible sound of this world’s growth
through the flawless organic drone
of chanting monks.
over rusted drainpipes
and crystalloid streams of rock-filtered rain
perfect their glint
against a hundred hundred hundred million years
while, in a thin courtyard,
a wife and husband in training —
the two of them sporting
boxing gloves polished to a winner’s champion sheen —
trade amorous, well-aimed punches
through the air.