I’ve seen the secret migration of stones.
They roll down from above, vigorously,
some of them disappear completely,
others stay but become ruins.
Nothing can be more embarrassing than
being a stone that stays behind, a towering pile,
a long shadow. I’ve seen them in daytime
scattering in the courtyard, a bunch of no surprises
when you walk out of the gate, but at nighttime
they scare you with their black whirring. In fact, it’s only
an illusion: one piece suppresses another,
as if in an instant the whole pressure will crush your body.
Like in the beginning, someone was expelled
out of there, and there a gate was established,
and Heaven erected. Oh the labor-ridden stones,
the oval eggs, but what was hoped for
has not been hatched.
We only hear the sound at first, then we see
the stones moving, moving into our perspective.
We know it’s the movement of the land,
the loosening of the earth, and beginning of rolling.
They scramble vigorously, making you feel empty.
Yes, it’s the decisive moment.
We happened to pass by at that time, not knowing
where to place ourselves. Like the stones,
some of us stayed, others continued to move forward.
Those who stayed behind became forbidden cities of souls,
and those who disappeared were firmly convicted…