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Autumn
I
While a poet is falling in love with a pizza guy in Purple Rose, my baby swans have grown into beautiful ladies on the river. The blue heron revisited the water near the bridge, but one of my fish under the mulberry tree died, I watched his body and my tears carried away by currents. It is strange, whereas the city lights appear brighter outside my window, the moon seems to have vanished - I have not seen it (not even the thin moon) since the full Mid-autumn moon.
II
The Phoenix has set herself on fire in the woods, leaping and dancing among tree tops. I want to sing an aria for her and burn with her, only to arise from ashes, each time more beautiful and stronger.
III
A rain delivers itself just when it's needed. On the river side, I stop to watch tiny icy dews hang on the thin arms of dark-colored twigs. The river slows too, touched by the mood of the sky. On its gray surface, swans are swimming toward the water nearer the city. Cold raindrops fall above me, before me, behind me, beside me, and inside me, densely and intensely, battering thick motley leaves on the ground. I close my eyes to listen, and hear winter shuffling not far on his way, ready to depict another fine-textured Chinese painting with subdued tones along the river. |
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