The quiet beauty of summer, when the colors have faded
leaving only so many unanswerable questions.
After the wind has passed
even for this moment of pause, of hesitation
I think, there must be so many
reasons I can't discern.
What is it that's slowly emerging?
What is it that's gradually vanishing?
Who is it that's really deciding the wills and will nots?
What kind of mighty thirst is it that's finally getting contours?
What, after all can our life bring to completion?
Like a blazing coal plunging into the lake of a winter night
these struggles, these oppositions doomed to fail ...
When outside the window time is sweeping all things into nonbeing
why should the I inside the window still want to write a poem?
Translated from the Chinese by Lloyd Haft