1
A woman alone here east of Ch’ung-ling
while you stay among Han River islands,
I look out across bright blossoms all day:
a lit path of white stretching between us.
We made clouds-and-rain love our farewell,
then nothing but autumn grasses remained,
autumn grasses and autumn moths rising,
and thoughts of you all twilight sorrow.
Will I ever see you again, ever darken
this lamp as you loosen my gauze robes?
Short and tall, spring grasses lavish
our gate with green, as if passion-driven,
everything returned from death to life.
My burr-weed heart— it alone is bitter.
You’ll know that in these things I see
you here again, planting our gardens
behind the house, and us lazily gathering
what we’ve grown. It’s no small thing.