You are almost half a day’s away,
And for a whole morning I brew the mood
To visit you, as if picking up a stray path.
In twilight I see your lone figure
Standing in a crossroad near your home, waiting.
We do not hug, not even holding hands,
As if neighbors greet over a hedge.
You say the glutinous porridge is just right,
And bats fly low, while we are lower,
Drinking marguerite tea, words sinking in our cups.
By midnight, the stars are getting cold, and we
Turn in, facing each other from opposite twin beds,
Or on a double bed, digesting the darkness.
From far away, you ask: who are you?
And I ask back, along your voice: who is the “you” of you?
I do not often come to you,
And you receive me as if I were another,
As if I had come from the future or the past.
We know we know each other for many years but not by names,
We know each other’s body warmth but not sex.
August 17, 2008