<for Li T’ai-Po>
Worn cliffs and falling leaves
Calm a short history –
This blue fountain of autumn.
By the river,
Yellow candles of poplars
Bring back spent evenings
in a parchment of twilight fields.
When Orion comes up in a silver skiff of fire,
Our voices ink aural shadows along the village wall –
And we go so slowly.
Over the stone towers of men,
The dark sky is brushed with sparrows
As silk threads of moonlight
Spin clouds from your still white hair.