In quiet, I verse tweets of birds and fragrances of flowers
Above rays of light
I want to construct a castle
Seagulls tweeter among spoondrifts
Snow flakes, interspersed with thin sands, cling to the branches of a river.
Restless mountains and rivers linguistically bloom figs flowers
Snow lotus, lanky, take shape out of phrases
Tang Dynasty luminesces, like the dream of chignon that sows and broods in the crevasses of a bamboo hat
Wild geese line up in the sky
I figured out why gold is yellow
I figured out why verses stagger
I figured out why tides come and go
I figured out why love comes sudden only to die fast
Moonshine always pens densely on a sheet of paper
I excavated the embroidery of livestock that is wrapped up by mountains and waters,
and that red flower of trendies
Among the aroma of teas, ice chair and plum flowers that fade in
there lacks only foliage hanging in a clock
Light rays are steady, and gone is flora-scenting perfume that I venerate
I am able to stay in the castle
to listen to the distant light of dawn, through the flute of poetry
I rebel with grace, and narrate with vigor.
I’m not going to say how good are two mountains that would look to， or lean against， each other
I’m just amicably
to say a word
The water is clean and clear. However dyed by the shaded part it might be, its essence is never broken.
Above the rays of light
I want to construct a castle
Standing before the spring is the jet-black cold
while standing before the time is just the dead-quiet of an ancient tomb.
The bad weather, ever more characteristic,
leaves the back of tongue ajar, and the tongue of stove-flame sprouting.
Standing behind the spring are flames on a sheet of paper,
just like undisciplined passion, moving deliria on the surface of water,
just like a drop of Buddha’s halo against the white of the sky, on the frozen top of the snow mountain.
I conjecture the descending of plum flowers, blossoming or closing,
River dolphins, pushing aside drenched souls, spur on across the sheet.
Let swelling chins, undulating hills, untidy men,
and staggering bigotries, discharge their spring libidinal drives, prior to tonight, prior to half a step to the Spring,
just like clay figurines to discharge smoke, prior to nesting on the memorial archway.
In the dictionary, I fictitiously stand by the right side of 1 surveying its surreptitious and lively posture,
its upper body bit too long, almost unrevealing the rumbling calves and a floor full of hair clippings.
Shedding petals, wearing lawn-turfs inside out, resembling bloodstained leaves,
in the autumn wind of a washed-out long gown, mourn over the water of pond that whisked by a willow tree.
With a whole collection of feelings, I shawl myself with tranquility, in the bare landscape of words.
Brilliance emerges, taking after the vast aloneness of the human world.
At the back of the painting canvas comes the magnificence of new poems.
The sediment of meditative awakening is in serenity, in life-long blooming of lotus flower.
