in the end, cold crows piece together
the night: a black map
I’ve come home-- the way back
longer than the wrong road
long as a life

bring the heart of winter
when spring water and horse pills
become the words of night
when memory barks
a rainbow haunts the black market

my father's life-spark small as a pea
I am his echo
turning the corner of encounters
a former lover hides in a wind
swirling with letters

Beijing, let me
toast your lamplights
let my white hair lead
the way through the black map
as though a storm were taking you to fly
   
I wait in line until the small window
shuts: O the bright moon
I’ve come home-- goodbyes
are less than reunion
only one less