The New Book
星期二 七月 07, 2009 1:17 pm
This book is ours-
each line of yours,
footnotes of mine follow.
We bind our imagination into thick volume,
longing hidden among delicate threads.
Our words form armies of ants -
they traverse the sphere for hunting.
They climb up our fingers,
bite our naked skin;
pink drops in crowds of tadpoles,
voices ripple outwards a summer lake.
This book is the lake,
we are fish inside.
We swim there at night,
and sigh upon each wave.
A river rises under the moonlight.
Pre-dawn, we float out;
my face is the moon,
yours, the morning sun.