Because you asked the boundaries of prose and poetry
　　Sparrows feeding in the cold drizzle
　　When you look into snowflakes when
　　Slope soaring in the invisible
　　From the silver to the random tilt, white and slow.
　　One moment you can not tell there.
　　Then they clearly flew instead of fell.
　　Nobody Translation
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　　Monkfish
　　In a long moonlit shore
　　Reflected their lone figure,
　　Two lovers suddenly embraced
　　Their shadow into one.
　　It has become common good night
　　Because they are the wave of the blood boiling
　　They accept it silently rushes,
　　They proudly thought for a moment
　　That they have registered bliss.
　　Then, as if struck by stage fright
　　In the gaunt, hard moonlight,
　　Together, they stood on the shore
　　Embarrassed watching each other
　　Still hand in hand,
　　Until they saw in the foot
　　As if the world discovered them,
　　Fish pulls out of a goose surface, despite the dead
　　Exposing the head of a huge grin.
　　He lay in a celadon color
　　How old, rotten, and gray.
　　They hesitated to face his smile,
　　It seems strange to say
　　Couples, on the beach from this violence,
　　You think
　　Will understand the instant
　　The only way to understand
　　Is to create a own world.
　　Goose fish mouth wide open, smiling trance
　　A mixture of calm and evil;
　　They do not know what he expressed,
　　What a perfect comedian
　　He might mean failure or success,
　　It as a symbol of the right
　　Their accidents, the love of fresh and guilt
　　When they kiss, is that rigid optimist
　　Sneak peek.
　　So he became their patriarch,
　　Revealed in the half dark terrible tenderness.
　　His throat seems to have been filled with sand,
　　His picket teeth, leaving a mark
　　But did not explain what a joke
　　Made him so enjoyable, he was lying there
　　When the moon dropped and disappeared
　　And tilt along the track of silence
　　Carry the ecliptic.
　　Nobody Translation
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　　Rain window
　　This morning, or in the past
　　People in the installation of rain the window until the heavy rain
　　Back to house them. So at noon home
　　I saw the rain the window lying on the ground,
　　Window frames filled with rainwater; through water and glass
　　I saw the crushed grass, it seems
　　To flow away to the rows, like seaweed on the tide
　　Tilt in the wind or the leaves of wheat.
　　When I walk through the rain splashing on the glass in the fuzzy
　　Ripples, it seems briefly recounts,
　　Something that I should be willing to say things to you,
　　Something ... ... the dry grass bent under the window
　　Window above the water filled Tiaodang ... ... A
　　Clear swing of things blindly reflecting
　　This loss of memory and desire, loneliness afternoon, when the winter rain
　　(Ineffable, far away in the mind!)
　　In the vertical passing windows.
　　Nobody Translation
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　　Agree
　　A night at the end of November
　　Not even close to freezing,
　　Sidewalk stand in the light of the ginkgo tree leaves falling
　　It is endorsed by neither wind nor rain
　　And as if time alone: gold and green
　　Leaves scattered on the grass today, yesterday
　　They also fan the air shimmering flutter.
　　What is the signal from the stars? It takes the feeling of how?
　　What is the motive of the tree's internal decision
　　Against them leaves them Tuojin,
　　Rebellion or surrender? If such a thing
　　Can happen, what race is immune?
　　Study time course taught what is the use,
　　If the stars will tell us at any time: to time.
　　Nobody Translation
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　　Dependency
　　This morning, the trees in the door
　　Between the two branches, round spider again
　　Woven tapestry and trap it, the Department of the names.
　　I test it early warning system
　　Very effective, it is wearing a black mink climb ahead
　　It says no one knows the meaning of
　　Hieroglyphics. I remember
　　Yesterday evening, the whippoorwill how to return
　　The same as this time of year,
　　Formation of gray, with white stripes on the wings
　　In the belly of cloud to search for worms.
　　Now, the monarch will soon be drifting towards the south,
　　And wild geese to leave, and then one day
　　Small garden birds trace will disappear.
　　Look, how many leaves have withered
　　Change color, and some have been falling.
　　Changes in the density seamless online continuing
　　The moment comes, you feel
　　A signal to your heart, urging you
　　Pay attention to the outcome of an explicitly declared
　　At the end of one thing, another thing started;
　　Waiting like a spider web
　　Do you know the intricate dependencies
　　Launched in secret, through Heaven and Earth
　　Great fabrics, chemical Password
　　The message to all things,
　　Incoming flow to whisper: it is time.
　　Nobody Translation
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　　To some wit
　　(In May 1958 at Bennington College
　　Barnett display. Newman's painting
　　Simple entertaining themselves)
　　When Moses command the rock in Horeb,
　　Rock in the water out there,
　　Some people get angry Moses
　　That he must have used a magic wand.
　　When Elijah Jia Mier mountain rain
　　Prophet Bar, where the rain does not come seeking
　　Some people say that the Prophet Bar ceremony
　　Is a meaningful aesthetic, while Elijah is very simple.
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　　To David, on his education
　　The world is full of the most difficult to see things
　　Not that way, only the eyes of thinking
　　Or nose, into a book, to find them,
　　For example, the square root of Everest
　　Or how many times Byron went to Texas,
　　Method can be used or whether the expulsion
　　Rocky west. Because these
　　And related reasons, you have to go to school
　　Of books, listen to tell you all,
　　Sometimes try to remember. Although I do not know
　　You use the Republic of Plato
　　Annual rainfall, or "worm diet," the
　　Calories to do things that are said to
　　Good for you, and you will have to learn them
　　To become a member of the adult
　　They see things not visible neither durable nor comprehensive,
　　But seriously, this magnificent world of chaos
　　To keep under his hat, and that its place,
　　And teach children themselves have to do so.
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　　Deformation
　　These people can not identify with their diplomas,
　　And passport to a landscape full of language,
　　They carry the banner image, or to become
　　Burdened with their own statues
　　Porters base, or lifted up, use and resistance to focus on power,
　　They are not balanced signature scroll work.
　　I do not know how thumbprints into a seal,
　　Cat persistent group, with the king of grace
　　Staring at a chart
　　Check out the cage on their way to tear,
　　And fish commensurate with the face of the photographer
　　Family members, or the back of the music stand
　　Roaming to find music.
　　These for their own, sir,
　　Is a great benefit. However, compared with those
　　I also thank the lines of class,
　　That division of the world who hang around,
　　They can do anything so casual:
　　For example, the clothing line will carry an extension of the train,
　　Or the letter of the lines, cracks in their
　　Changed the distant horizon
　　And between the close of the nose of the aircraft.
　　Confuse the lines, challenges to the gravity and death
　　Creating and destroying it in the world
　　Confirmed that the law of surprising exception
　　Where a hand painted it himself,
　　A man with a pencil effortlessly
　　Painting until his own existence; no one of the world
　　The image of their own self-entertainment:
　　A woman in her rocking chair, a syllable is omitted,
　　Man trapped in his signature behind
　　He had just removed himself.
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　　Scan passers-by
　　These days, a modest little black broom
　　Cleaning trails falling leaves.
　　He tilted his head, looking at leaves,
　　Looked at his broom, as the windy beard
　　Inertia and curly for cleaning. His head
　　Proud of the high trees, hickory and poplar,
　　More easily distribute their leaves, or
　　Wind on the streets, hunting the hypocrisy
　　Tear the walls of the summer, the leaves tossed
　　Witness the cold naked truth.
　　It seems there is no hope in these cruel days of accelerated
　　Before the end of all those Saowan
　　Against time for the leaves. However broom back and forth
　　The patient has a tree, as if the rubber
　　Automatically speak the language of a pencil.
　　Offer all kinds of thoughts fell on the same piece of white paper,
　　Despite the wind blowing them back, they go to
　　He pointed to where they are, to archives, where the clutter
　　Flame and a wisp of gray smoke into the sky.
　　My way is satisfactory, no leaves.
　　We met each other good morning smile
　　Talking about the weather. There will be some rainy days, the leaves
　　As the marker, stick on the sidewalk;
　　He will also sweep away these.
　　Gentlemen, we all come with a white face
　　Silent prayer, do not hate me, in a
　　He broom antenna to receive the full
　　Wavelength, we understand their thinking so much
　　Is a detailed, considered good mind
　　It could not do anything, has been doing so.
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　　41 of the thirtieth anniversary of the report
　　Those of us who survived the war, married a wife
　　Mr. made the establishment of a decent life,
　　Equipment was successful life gradually
　　Does not depend on outstanding robbery and theft ─ ─
　　We have a middle-aged love routine
　　Made up the bed and had to lie down
　　Bed always there, no matter how we sleeping position
　　And to our bad temper and bile into sputum ─ ─
　　We see grandparents and parents, into the grave
　　Wife and I sounded wrinkles, gray hair, weight gain
　　Children with their acne rebel
　　And tell the spirit of analysts ─ ─
　　Acne disappear along with everything. What else can argue that?
　　Nothing left to us to talk about ourselves.
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　　Snow
　　The cast is not slow, not because love
　　They shape the air, but by blind self-storm
　　Twist, each individual drive
　　In the fall a snap.
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　　The Way West
　　As long as we look ahead, everything seemed to freedom,
　　Indefinitely, under the law of change,
　　Despite the changes that should be subject to rules
　　The review of life, the book seems to change
　　Do not let us change.
　　The story talked about for some time before
　　Is on the way waiting for us, our lives
　　To make plump; and dream about the past
　　Show us the world over the radial
　　Little left to dream of the future.
　　Only scholars in our midst
　　Repeat the old story, they hide the road
　　Harder to understand than the life of the old story
　　But since we know what to do
　　And make their parents did.
　　When I was young I flew Scrivo
　　Where nine virgin still grinding meal Hamlet
　　Granite, salt and bitter earth grains,
　　Know that it is not for twenty years.
　　I have a chance now after they change, I know
　　How long a life as a ghost to the end of the growth
　　Like any person in each of the ablation
　　His story, as usual, begins
　　In a distant country, the former
　　There lived a man and his three sons ... ...