"Night is a sleepy city of ... ..."
　　Sleeping the night is a big city,
　　Wind blows ... ... it from afar, until
　　This bed shelter. This is the midnight of June.
　　You sleep, it took me to the endless shore,
　　The wind shook the hazel tree. Came a call
　　Near each other, they leave, I swear,
　　Chuan Lin and had a ray of light, perhaps
　　Round and round in hell those shadows.
　　(Summer night the sound of the call, how many things
　　Would I say, from your eyes ... ...) but it is only
　　Cang Hu called bird bird, from the outskirts of
　　Depths of the forest call us. We smell
　　Is already the smell of rancid garbage dawn,
　　Have from our burnings through the bone under the skin,
　　When the corner, the stars are becoming bleak.
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　　"Now I know I do not have ... ..."
　　Now I know I do not own,
　　Do not even have this beautiful gold: the rotting leaves,
　　Also do not have to fly tomorrow from yesterday, these days,
　　They clap their giant wings, fly to a happy country.
　　Tired of the nationals, she was with them,
　　Weak in the United States, together with the secret of her faded,
　　Fog wearing clothes. Perhaps it was she taken to
　　Elsewhere, through the rain forest. As before,
　　I sat in a true threshold of winter,
　　Where the stubborn gray birds singing, the only sounds
　　Refused to stop, like ivy. But who can say
　　It sounds mean? I saw the body becomes weak,
　　This short-lived as the mist and the fire welcome,
　　A chill wind to make it even more vigorously, disappeared ... ... dark.
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　　"Do not worry, it will come! ... ..."
　　Do not worry, it will come! You approach,
　　You will burn! The final book of Psalms
　　That word would be nearer than the first
　　You die: it is not the way to stay.
　　Do not think it will go to sleep under the tree,
　　Or when you write, the rest in one breath.
　　Even when you are thirsty to drink in the mouth, stopped
　　Worst desires, gently mouth tender
　　Shouting, even when you hard tightening
　　You four arm junction, in order to
　　Fat burning the dark motionless bundle,
　　It will come, ghosts know where the road toward you both,
　　From the horizon or to the side, but do not worry,
　　It will come: from a word to another, you are more old.
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　　Internal
　　A long time, I always wanted to live here,
　　I pretend to like in this room,
　　Table, worry-free objects, windows
　　The end of the night to the other green blackbird Chi ? Br> Thrush in the dark heart beating in the Ivy League,
　　End around dawn the shadow of aging.
　　I also would like to believe the sky gentle.
　　I am at home, the days will be good.
　　But, the foot bed, just a spider
　　(Because of the garden), I did not put it
　　Step enough, she also appears to networking
　　Waiting for me to fall into the trap ... weak wits ...
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　　Sound
　　Who's there singing, when the silence? Who,
　　With this pure, dumb silent voice, singing a song so wonderful?
　　Could it outside the city, in the Luoban Song, in a
　　The park covered with snow? Or it around,
　　Did not realize someone was listening?
　　Let us not be so eager to know him,
　　Because the day does not specifically allow only
　　Invisible birds went before him. But
　　We have quiet. A voice rose, as the surge in March
　　Wind power to bring the aging of the wood, which sounds to us smile
　　No tears, more laughter to death.
　　Who's there singing, when our lights go out?
　　No one knows. Only that heart can hear -
　　Possessing or pursuing sinking, do not want to win hearts.
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　　Ignorant people
　　The more I do, my ignorance of the greater
　　The more I experienced, the less possession, less rule.
　　Everything to me, is a space, sometimes
　　Covered with snow, sometimes sparkling, but not live.
　　There is a giver, guide, guardian?
　　I stayed in my room, first silent
　　(Silence as the waiter entered, laid a bit order)
　　Waiting to spread lies and then one by one:
　　Left? So skillfully on the block with
　　The death of dying, what is left? What
　　It also forces between four walls talking?
　　Did I know him, my ignorant, worried people?
　　But I really heard him speak, his words
　　The same day went into a little fuzzy:
　　"It's like fire, love is only in the charcoal ashes
　　Errors and beautiful on top of it to establish clear ... ... "
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　　We see
　　We saw students running their loud screaming
　　Thick grass in the playground.
　　Quiet tall tree
　　And September at ten o'clock the sun
　　Like a fresh waterfall
　　Masking them that huge sky,
　　The stars shine on high.
　　*
　　Soul, so cold, so shy,
　　Does she really should go in this endless ice,
　　Alone, barefoot, and even can not reproduce
　　Childhood prayer,
　　Subjected to the cold endless punishment?
　　*
　　So many years,
　　Really, know that poor
　　Heart so weak?
　　If the passerby approached,
　　Is he even the most broken coppers do not give children?
　　- I reserve the water grass and moving rapidly,
　　I keep my light
　　So that the boat went down some.
　　*
　　She approached the round mirror
　　Like a child's mouth
　　Do not know the lie,
　　Wearing a blue robe,
　　Is changing the old robe.
　　Quickly become gray hair
　　Very slow time in the fire.
　　Morning sun
　　Also strengthen her shadow.
　　*
　　After the window - it has been whitewashed frame
　　(Anti-mosquito, anti-ghost),
　　A white-haired old man leaning on
　　A letter or hometown news.
　　Climbing vines along the wall of gloomy.
　　Guard him, rattan and lime, to resist Morrowind,
　　Against the long night and another, eternal.
　　*
　　Some water weaving (with gold and silver in the
　　Tree pattern). But I looked in vain,
　　I can not see Weaver,
　　Can not see her hand - we want to touch.
　　When the whole room, weaving, cloth
　　All disappeared,
　　We are also hearing on the wet earth can recognize footprints ... ...
　　*
　　We also spent in the cocoon of light on a while.
　　When it is broken cocoon (slow or sudden),
　　Could it be that we can grow a pair
　　Cecropin E wings, covered with eyes,
　　Dark and cold to risk carrying a fly?
　　*
　　When we see these things through
　　(Even a little hand-shaking,
　　Heart falter),
　　While some things in the same sky:
　　Dazzling yard pumpkin,
　　They are like the sun's eggs,
　　Aging of the flowers, lavender.
　　This summer's light,
　　If it is just another light, shadow,
　　Fascinating,
　　I was surprised.
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　　Sowing time
　　A
　　We are eager to keep pure,
　　Despite the evil more real.
　　We are eager to not harbor hatred,
　　Although the storm choking the seed.
　　How light those seeds! Know this
　　People, will praise the thunder scared.
　　II
　　I am a tree to which the blurred line
　　Where the air flapping pigeon wings:
　　You, the people born in the local touch your hair ... ...
　　However, in despair because of the finger from under the
　　Like straw as the sun gently broken.
　　C
　　Here the earth showed the rope. I hope
　　For the next rainy weather, people in the conjecture in the wet
　　One kind of chaos, people know the ropes to a new return.
　　Death, the moment, snow lotus
　　Fresh look ... ...
　　IV
　　Days on me to keep up appearances, like a bull:
　　Almost believe that it is powerful ... ...
　　If people can make sick Matador
　　And the assassination of a slight delay!
　　V
　　In winter, the trees and meditate.
　　Then one day, humming laughter,
　　There are whispers of leaves,
　　Our garden decoration.
　　Who does not love for people,
　　Live forever in the more distant.
　　Six
　　Oh, the days of early spring
　　In the school yard to play,
　　Between classes in the two wind!
　　Seven
　　I am getting impatient, I am worried about:
　　Who knows the other's life
　　A wound or a treasure? A spring
　　Happy darting fly can also be killed.
　　- This is the Thrashers. A shy girl
　　Out from their homes. Morning in the wet grass.
　　Eight
　　Across long distances,
　　I see the streets, its trees, its houses,
　　And fresh air this season,
　　It is constantly changing direction.
　　Passing a cart, carrying white furniture
　　In the shadow of the bush from. .
　　Day went before him.
　　Left to me, a moment I can count.
　　Nine
　　Thousands of labor the only insects rain
　　All night; trees blooming rain,
　　Storm whip the distant sound of ringing rejection.
　　But the sky is bright; in the garden,
　　After the morning bell rang tools.
　　Ten
　　No one saw this array of wind
　　Bird carrying a distant
　　And light seeds,
　　The edge of the woods
　　Seed germination tomorrow.
　　Oh! The flow of life
　　Stubbornly toward the lower!
　　Eleven
　　(Seine, March 14, 1947)
　　Broken ceramic turbulent river. River rise
　　The low slope of the pavement stone washing. Because the wind
　　Tall and dark like a boat from the ocean
　　Down, carrying the yellow seeds.
　　An water taste Yang Qi, far away, a touch of ... ...
　　People shiver,
　　Broke away eyelids surprised.
　　(There was a mirror-like flash canal people follow it,
　　Canal plant, people throw a flower
　　At the source, in order to retrieve it in the town ... ...)
　　Childhood memories. The river has never been the same,
　　The same day: that the water held in my hands of people ... ...
　　Someone lit a fire with a branch bank.
　　Twelve
　　All of this green, not stacked, but trembling, shining,
　　Wet spring, as people see Lianer
　　Small drafts are the most sensitive; in the tree
　　High, as if a swarm of bees stops,
　　Buzzing with; gentle landscape in
　　Some never see a bird call us,
　　Some of the voices, not the root, as a seed, and you,
　　Together with your bright eyes drawn to the galleries before.
　　Thirteen
　　This Sunday we meet with only a moment,
　　When the wind with our heat reduction:
　　Street below, those beetle
　　Light, and went out. Deep as the park
　　Much of the lantern, perhaps for your holiday ... ...
　　I, too, I trust you, and your light
　　Burn me, and left me. They dry shell
　　Kaka sound when falling into the dust. Others rise
　　There are some burning, and I stay in the shadows.
　　Fourteen
　　All beckoned me: Lilac eager life,
　　The ball falls on the children in the park.
　　Then, people moved back from near a number of tiles,
　　Layer by layer stripped naked, dressed-up
　　The smell of a woman ... ... the wind with these trivial things
　　Trembling weave a cloth. I tore it,
　　As always a person, as always looking for traces.
　　Fifteen
　　Clove open again
　　(But this is no longer a guarantee for everyone),
　　Glittering red-tailed bird, the voice of the maid soft down
　　When she spoke with the dog. Bees
　　Labor in a pear tree. In the depths of the sky,
　　This thrill machine, never fade away ... ...
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