FLOATING, FLOATING


Our lives race feebly in all directions.

A frozen piece of land at the bottom of the earth…


“I seem to hold in reserve something that makes for success

            and yet to see no worthy field for it

            and so there is this consciousness

            of a truly deep unrest.” 

takes on significance

and plots our course.

 

Where does this unrest originate?

“Daddy, do you like my drawing?”

 

A gentle wind on the water.

Stars hanging down

in a solitary night.

The moon leaps on the great river.

 

Du Fu, what did your life resemble?


A sand gull

floating, floating

between earth and sky. 

 

Du Fu, now that we read you,

what did your life resemble?