They come on the ripples of water, masters of light body gung-fu,
Through my dreamscape, as if a wind cutting through the world of the real.
I lie as a river island, and bare-footed, they skip on my body as a spring board,
To mount a cloud; there they sit now, like an antique sage
Who angled without a hook, the line suspending over the water by half a meter.
Water rises and falls, now over my nose,
Now lower than my jaw, and I
Struggle to breathe in accord with the ebb and tide.
They come for a look at the river fight:
Pelvic fins of big fish clutch smaller fish, and stick in
To prize up those glossy gills of clamshells.
Eyes wide open, mouth flared, the aquatic creature is drowning in water:
SOSs rise as a string of transparent bubbles,
And after the string is a mouth opening and closing.
No tears seen, no suffocate looks, only the tail
Waggling like a rudder out of control,
And as I swirl in the stream,
A huge flood crest swarm like a sand storm from the Northwest.
They are still in the midair, like a veni-vidi-vici commander,
Pointing at the mountains and rivers, claiming territory,
While looking askew at me and sneering my fear.
They know this is but my dream, but they only care
For conquest and the conscription of the able-bodied,
Not bothering to broach my angst of a weakling.
They wring the clouds, and as the clouds lighten, their mechanic feet
Stomping on the water surface around me;
They leave me behind like a wrecked ship,
My eardrums suffering the bow waves.