AT SEVEN-MILE RAPIDS

A light boat one lone leaf,

a startled swan two oars—

water and sky are pure clarity

reflecting deep. Waves smooth,

fish roil this duckweed mirror

and egrets dot misty shorelines.

We breeze past sandy streams,

frostfall streams cold,

moonlit streams aglow,

ridge above ridge like a painting,

bend beyond bend like a screen.

Here I think back to

Yen Tzu-ling’s empty old age,

lord and recluse one dream.

Renown’s empty then as now,

just mountains stretching away:

cloud mountains erratic,

dawn mountains green.