The orange-colored leaves
carpet the terrace quietly
in the wind’s knocking
Your letter comes late
I understand, every leaf’s mature
is the negation of mature itself
The fluid of your full emotion
along the veins of life
flows smoothly and deeply
One says you have crossed the Yangtze River
Another says you have crossed the Pacific Ocean
The door casts its heavy eyes
on the words of leaves combination
The time embroidered on leaf veins
like feather flies in my eyes
In which book that tender sparkling leaf
has become a bookmark?
We cheers each other remotely
raising the cup of sunset light
toasting the whole past
Roses with thorns
flowers and leaves long lying in soil
only thorn has left
The expectation of bank has become
the memory of water
In undulating waves of time
we row a tiny boat
The waves subside, we are grounded
becoming shells
Whose sigh
is playing zither alone in the wind?
Lost memories automatically come back
riding a skinny horse
into your
deciduous forests