Mottled green water seeps into Magu’s bower
Mottled green water seeps into Mazhu Mountain
Mottled green is a young animal
Enamored, dusk arrives on the horizon
Reddening the evening clouds
    (O, you are a cloud floating on a peak, I am the fire
        driving the sun
     O, you are a bamboo raft on water, I am the lingering
        sound of a flute)

A small canopied boat moors under the willows
A weary passenger shields his eyes from the sun with his
    hand
Covering a brow, tired from always looking around
Heavy of heart, a cormorant with a ring around its neck
    thinks
On the freedom of fish, water and sky
    (O, you are time, I am out of step with time
     You are a dream, I am an arduous mountain road
       in a dream)

Mist rises from the water
A sail abandons itself
A moonbeam jingles as it rolls over and awakens
The thatched cottage holds the newly lit lamp
Smoke from the cooking fire reluctantly whispers a few words
   (O, the warm pollen wind, you softly blow
    O, the small spiral shell, you gently breathe)

Is a river with no end called vagrant?
Is a ticket without a return leg called distant?
From winter to spring to fall of night
What is a goose that bears no news called?
What is a people with no legends called?
   (O, you are the cat-eyed Ghost Constellation flirting
       with me here and there
    O, I am Scorpio, flowing red, wrestling you to and
       fro)
A journey without end is called a dream
Together, we walk
A road with no end