Anchored at Jiande River

Meng Haoran
 
This anchored boat’s astir in fog and breeze,
As sunset rends my fears up once again,
But as the sky descends beneath the trees,
The river, moon, and quiet become my friends.

 
 

A Chance Encounter

By chance I saw her at the corner
Of Fifth and Forty-Eight;
The crowd moved past, we talked at last,
And smiled as on a date.
We planned to meet again sometime
Or talk at any rate,
But the number she gave I failed to save,
As charm’s a poor cousin to fate.

Witch’s Brew

A fern surrounds my life like a hollow maze
In the intricate lattice of love’s first gaze;
Following a pattern that guides me on this road
I reach for her lips beneath the mistletoe.
 
My love comes forth with the apple of desire,
A tangled taste that takes a life to acquire;
Magic and nightshade in a mandrake stew,
I drink the nighttime herbs in a witch’s brew.
 
Seared in my skin like a tattoo of her name,
My cry has faded to a touch without shame;
Pulled by a thread that stains the earth and sky

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