There, where it’s the season for long sleeves on one side and short on the other
Some tie clips, like crocodiles,
Fasten onto flying time
Cups of sweet-sour plum juice, coconut milk, and lemonade seize
the sidewalk
Memories of the Tamsui River, Chuoshui Creek and the Ai River
Touch softly, rolling on the international phone lines
Crisp and salty chicken isn’t an attributive
Preserved fruit has a view of Ilan
A cheap hood’s love is also boldly displayed
Among the stands selling hair pins and snacks
A comb for my daughter to comb her homesickness
A cushion for my son to rest his time
A teapot for myself to hold my sad tears
That feeling, like a black sediment, allows me to sense
How the dim light of night brushes past time