N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 0 7

WANG PING

Liquid Glass

He beckons her into the basement—granite, albasa, marble, green chert—skeletons of
organisms hardened with silicic acid

So thin is the inner wall of glass

No grain of sand seeps in

Red magma cools then hardens into rocks; rocks crumble into stones, stones into sand,
sand into soil, then back to rocks at the bottom of the sea

Pebble: a billion-year-old crossroad

Wedged between toes

Trees repeat trees

We repeat history

Shards of twilight

Sail across deep blue moss

He sprays water to retrieve ghosts from the oxidized face

The sea is rising

The sea is rising

That feeling of stone in hand...that smell…groundmass polished to colored shapes
...accumulation of strata slumbering under dark forests…miraculous sculpture from
waves…that breathing of minerals…ocean of summer light…order of the universe
…locked in stones…impossible to say…but

The earth still goes on

As the window stands like a mirror

Its glass falling into a puddle

Through the millennium