This sunny afternoon, I walk by the river bank.
Many maple leaves are wrapped by the water’s finger,
searching for a rescue hand.
The yellow stones are grilled by the sun,
and melt their solid shape.

Could you put your thought over the water surface,
then I can pick up downstream?
Could you write a poem on the paper moon,
then send it to me through the water road?
Could you hang your sufferings on a tree,
then show me how they dance with the wind?
Could you cut a stream with your sword,
then let me walk towards you with no hindering?

I miss you,for sentimental reasons...
I am waiting for your native language,the golden
grapes,drifting from your inner stream.
Let me sing a song for you.
Let me chase after your window light.....

You are the hesitatig beauty in the dusk :)

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