Li Tai-Po in Spring

T’ang light:

Weak wine – Strong blossoms.


For the exile,

Hesian cherries weep in a pinkwind.


Dividing infinity,

A bell rings in the monastery tower.


In white migration of dancing clouds,

For hours,

Continents form and submerge across the darkening west without incident.


In a paused wind,

Beyond the gate,

Falling rocks echo into scroll-paintings of black bamboo.


So few evenings go to make up a century.

A bell rings —


For you,

It was enough to dream in jade of remote fields,

And let the world slip away.