Remembrance

I.

On this day the mountain is awash

With the babble of the deceased.

As I tread among these moonlit graves,

My thoughts are cold.

The northern wind blows down stars in showers,

The falling leaves of the cathayas

Prick slits in the skin of the land.

They make deeper still the winter that resides within us.

I now know more than ever that you live here.

II.

During New Year’s Eve on the winding Huangpu river,

The country of China condenses into a ribbon of people.

When the express train worms its way

Above ground to catch a breath across the water,

I press my cheek like a fish against the window.

Sometimes I see you twirling a gold-threaded dress,

Though only from behind.

Giggling, you melt into the throng,

Leaving only a trail of scents

That soon dissipates as the train burrows back underground.

III.

Midnight on the Shanghai expressway

Is without a single car in sight.

Yet I drive with my fingers clutched around the wheel.

Every streetlight beats like a fateful drum.

Someday I hope I am brave enough to hit the brake. 

And when I get out of the car over a bridge

That overlooks the Milky Way,

I may find you there where the light is dimly shed.