I asked my mother singing
　　She began, then joined my grandmother
　　Mother and daughter sing like little girls.
　　If the father is still alive, he would pull
　　His organ, like a rocking boat.
　　I have not been to Beijing or the Summer Palace,
　　Nor stood watching that big stone boat
　　Showers passing Kunming lake, picnic are
　　Ben scattered on the grass.
　　But I want to hear them sing;
　　Lotus leaf to fill rainwater
　　Until the bear, the water dumped into the water
　　And then bounce back, and then starting from scratch note.
　　The two women began to cry.
　　They do not have to stop singing.
　　Translation is not a horse
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Single meal
　　Last year I pulled out the green onions.
　　The garden was empty. Land ice-cold,
　　An He, old. Embers of the day
　　Maple in my eyes
　　Combustion. I turned, a cardinal flies.
　　In the cellar door, I wash the onions,
　　Metal tap water from the cold.
　　Once, years ago, I walked around my father
　　By the wind, the pears in the middle. I can not remember
　　We say. Perhaps we just quietly walk. But
　　I still see the way he bends his left hand propped ─ ─
　　Knee creaking ─ ─ pick me
　　A rotten pear. In it, a bumblebee
　　Crazy rotation, was stuck in the thick shiny sauce.
　　This morning I saw my father
　　In the trees waved to me. I almost
　　Him, until I approached to
　　See the shovel, leaning against me
　　Leave it a place in the flickering dark green in.
　　In the steaming rice, instant the. Fresh peas
　　Fried onions. Sesame oil
　　Garlic Shrimp. And my own loneliness.
　　I, a young man, but also to anything.
　　Translation is not a horse
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　　Sharing meals
　　There is a steamer trout
　　With ginger, two tender onions,
　　And sesame oil seasoning.
　　We have to take it to them with rice,
　　Brothers, sisters, my mother
　　She will head the most delicious taste of meat,
　　Fingers deftly sandwiched, as
　　Several weeks ago my father's look.
　　Then he lay down to sleep
　　If a winding road snow
　　Through the pine trees is older than he,
　　No pedestrians, but not lonely.
　　Translation is not a horse
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Iris
　　1
　　At night, in the wind, the rain's edge,
　　I found five iris, I call them cute.
　　Like a woman, once, in their lying around a bit
　　Then wake up, get up, walk away, the hair to hang around
　　Sweet tongue in their memory.
　　I wanted to rip the petals with his teeth.
　　I really want to study these hairy self
　　Their beauty and indifference. They
　　Simmering gas lifetime
　　Open, open.
　　2
　　We are not lovers, brothers or sisters,
　　While wandering through the hall hand in hand
　　Tremor, agitation when the thoughts and desires
　　Off off, and in this dream of life,
　　This is the life of sleep, we awake to die ─
　　Purple, blue, turn
　　Black, black ─ All
　　Iris is one of the prayer
　　When she prayed, the end result.
　　Translation is not a horse