After tonight, what’s left of you is you
moving into my dream. Outside, the horse hooves
stamping the ground, the dust moves.
No sorrowful songs for me unless I am drunk.
I am drunk. Forgive me that I couldn’t bear
to see you off, vanishing with the sun.
Alone with the west wind and the moon.
Alone listening to the pipa sobbing, its pegbox
carved into a phoenix. Listen, crying bird:
To live without this grief is to see the mountain
without its weight, rivers without depth.
--Zhang Xian
Translated from the Chinese by Shangyang Fang
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