A Warm Little Hand

Nights as beautiful as Chinese calligraphy
Are marshy daffodil fields. I pass by
The marsh and watch as closely
As air

A warm little hand is a fruit bowl
I curl up in the bowl, as quietly
As a big sleep

Certain youthful arms feel like summer water
Certain ornamental feathers hatch a flying bird
Certain pitiful weather is crowned with stars
Certain terror memories, slippery as ice

If I live among them as lovingly as roots
If I fly above them
As leisurely as clouds
The clouds entering your dreams
Would be restless as fire

Oh, on Qinming, petals drop
All night through. Gathering up the petals
I am as melancholy
As patterns in the moon.

Zheng Danyi
Melancholy