I told you before my forehead my hair miss you
because the clouds comb each other in the sky my neck my
earlobes miss you
because of the idle worry of the lane with the suspended
bridge and the alley with the grass bridge because of
the unaccompanied Bach slipping silently into the
river outside the city
my eyes my wanderer eyes miss you because the sparrows
on the parasol tree have all glided down to earth
because of the shattered glass of the wind
Because of the wall between the days I tell you that my
pores that long to sleep miss you
my ribs miss you my moonlit arms turned into wisteria of
the Tang dynasty in full bloom miss you too
I am sure I have told you my lips because of a cup of burning
hot coffee my fingertips because of the perplexity
of a night of revolving horse lamps because of a sky
spread over with blue cashmere
I can’t bear to let you go