How can I speak with you ever again
Speak with the falling snowflakes,
speak with the thawing river
Speak with a phone line, a burst of chaotic wind
In a poplar grove in the obscure clouds at the 53rd parallel
After June 11th
So much to say is consigned to a chip
You who could not be saved have shown me how to swallow my mortal
Strength, to wear a cold cangue
The sadness of failing to bring you back to life, henceforth this loneliness
This loneliness, keeps me from speaking ever again
We no longer inhabit the same time, we have
Parted from a shared time. Those mixed feelings
For home in a foreign land, the loneliness, the perplexities of life and school
The parents’ concern for their child’s distress
Have all become broken memories
All I can hear are the sighs of the wind and evening light, at this moment
The sea sighs near the cliffs of Fulong. DivineVulturePeak
Guards with folded wings, supporting the heavens,
encircling the waves
This is the city of mantras arrived at after 21 kalpas
Another land we both uphold
In addition to the sutras, incense, and kneeling before the bodhisattva
You have taken the body obtained from your parents and reduced it
To ashes in an urn, bid farewell to tears and blood, bid farewell to
The words no one can utter that pass through
The last nightfall in a foreign land of four distinct seasons
Have you bid silent farewell to the first color of dawn or
The forgetfulness on the journey? The sad smile amid the crowd
Or secret fears and nightmares
How can I speak with you ever again
When the monk’s kasaya has been hung up and all that remains is
The silent walking of a wandering ghost
Your mother and father nurtured your life, now they nurture your death
Just as the poplar leaves tremble in the early summer wind
in Edmonton
You arrived in June and you departed in June
No more roads to stumble on, no more need to clean your room
This small urn turns out to be the cradle of your rebirth
A black hawk flies high above the treetops like an apparition
Your red sports car careened into my dream again as a premonition
Was it news of another visit home?The light of dawn
Teaches me, teaches me how to speak with you again
To speak until stopped by death
. . . .
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