A LITTLE VILLAGE

On the broad Huai, among many islands, a village appears:

thorn-date fences, their tattered openings the only gates.

Squawking back and forth, cold chickens scuffle for food,

and old-timers without clothes cradle their grandchildren.

Sparrows nest in ragged rigging on battered little boats,

and the river’s gnawed at mulberries until the bank’s all

roots dangling in air. O, this is how they live. It’s fantasy

listing them in tax books alongside some emperor’s people.