The swinger the swirler the swirled: stop grieving.
I drink all night but in a diminishing appetite.
The scene outside is obscene from a humbling window.
My sentiment spreads, my famine a flagpole, a grizzle.
Birds sing next year’s songs, or antique rescues.
I write but where shall I send it?
Let go — I shall go tie the flowers the leaves the whole orchard.
The outskirts are curved, shadows of countrywoman donors ...
You bring me a cup of fresh tea that I love,
I return you two kapok leaves — like hand waves.
Translated from the Chinese