I see Dragons on the walls
Of temples and market stalls.
From Shanghai to London way,
I've seen them by night and day.
I've seen them skewered by St. George
And belching flame like a forge.
I saw one once in Baku,
But never saw one in a Zoo.
Close your eyes and listen with care.
Turn all your attention inside.
Let your soul ride the Eight Borders
At a galloping stride.
Inner space brightens, becomes more
Compact, as one views the expanse.
Words pour forth to cleanse the soul,
As the Six Arts lend a fragrance.
Float, swim, and dive in the abyss,
Heedful for words as it all soaks in...
Sometimes the right word must be hooked,
And hauled up where it can be spoken.
But, other times, words are like birds,
That fly themselves out of the clouds,
To be downed by one swift arrow --
Quite willingly freed of their shrouds.
Mine for lines lost ages ago --
Rhymes unsung for ten centuries.
Thank tight buds for the sweet flowers
That they - soon enough - will be.
See past and present concurrently,
At once, touch mountain and sea.
The Original in Simplified Chinese:
其始也，皆收视反听，耽思傍讯，精骛八极，心游万仞。
其致也，情曈曨而弥鲜，物昭晣而互进。
倾群言之沥液，漱六艺之芳润。
浮天渊以安流，濯下泉而潜浸。
于是沈辞怫悦，若游鱼衔钩，而出重渊之深；
浮藻联翩，若翰鸟缨缴，而坠曾云之峻。
收百世之阙文，采千载之遗韵。
谢朝华于已披，启夕秀于未振。
观古今于须臾，抚四海于一瞬。
from the hillfort,
fog sliding down valley
erases modernity.
desert sunset
dips toward silhouetted dunes:
fade to black... then Stars!
Hanging from the beam,
Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
Shenandoah!
The cut is on the crown
(Lo, John Brown),
And the stabs shall heal no more.
Hidden in the cap
Is the anguish none can draw;
So your future veils its face,
Shenandoah!
But the streaming beard is shown
(Weird John Brown),
The meteor of the war.
stork silhouette
stands on a sunken branch:
dusky summer eve.
Come slowly -- Eden!
Lips unused to Thee --
Bashful -- sip thy Jessamines --
As the fainting Bee --
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums --
Counts his nectars --
Enters -- and is lost in Balms.
two wading birds
face each other so that
their reflections can chat.
A flower was offer'd to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said 'I've a Pretty Rose-tree,'
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
