Leaves fall, slanting sun lights the river
that rolls its gentle ripples
on and on for a thousand miles.
On the bridge, an acid wind strikes my eyes,
I stand a long while
watching the twilight,
the lamp-lit town.
In my old house, under the cold window,
I hear countless leaves
flutter and fall from the parasol tree by the well.
I’ve no love for this lonely quilt, get up again and again.
Who knows that
it’s for her sake
I cover this sheet with words?
Courtesy of AJM