After pasturing the sheep, he rushes to the noodle shop
in town. The female boss hands over an opium pipe
like a bamboo chopstick or a Western flute.
Instantly, a beam of misty light suffuses— “Moonlight before my bed”,
like her double whiteness, her moist warmth, her mercury
hissing through time, and ah ! that pair, that row of buttons.
Her exotic country fragrance as sensual as the homemade.
"Li Po, Li Po!" Her sweet showers, things in flight,
cinnamon flowers on the hill’s belly, from the low delta up, spilling.
“Double Double” is her nickname, her moons eclipse him
in intimacy or war, comfortable together as a pair of bandits
they go thousands of miles, from the heights of anxiety
sliding down to a string of bass notes. Afterwards they run away like refugees,
her face maintaining an expression like a nanny’s apology.
What actually happened ? History flows like rhythms of amnesia.
(Translated by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone)
顷刻间，光雾弥漫于睡眼间 — — 榻前明月光，