So many years, still you live in that city.
Your orchard has bloomed, blessed with fruits.
Your roots must have grown deep;
I’ve heard you have been happy.
So many years, still I am the wandering
moon, far and away into other courses.
Some nights I have dropped by
and watched a sad face in your mirror;
You might see or not—
along with a long long river.
The fallen leaves, east winds picked up
and blown into you, now are in my mirror.
I guess I have my whispers there
and take some to write poems
so winters would brighten up.
So many years, in my mirror
there are suns, rains and moons.
There also is carried the city that you live in.
I might have forgotten many things;
I think winds do remember them.
When they are blown into my garden,
I cup each and think of
that night’s moon, and the city that floats.