Outside the curtains: Sa Sa, the sound

of rain. Spring is almost over. These silk blankets

are too thin, the fifth watch too cold

and in my dream, I had forgotten

about all of this—my self, this exile.

         Again in pleasure.

I am starting to think—that when the sun

is setting and you are resting alone, it’s better not

to look south to those streams and hills. Leaving

them was easy—but going back last night

was hard. The waters flowing away. The flowers

breaking to the ground. Spring has also left.

         That heaven, this earth.

translated from the Chinese by Ken Chen and Donna Chen Snow