The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Wednesday, December 28, 2022

Second Morning in West Texas

The train left my childhoodNot knowing its destinationHometown at my backI try to catch up, running barefootThirty years west of the riverThirty years east of the riverIn MarfaThe train tries to wake me again and againBut my dreams, not yet over,Are determined to last until morningThe train carries away dream and hometownMorning and IRemain in Marfa

--Lao Yang

translated by Joshua Edwards and Lynn Xu 

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