330
moths and candle

moths – in your dance
why all this hurry?

hating darkness, loving light

aim for the moon
and you’ll live a long life



331
four pieces concerning immortals

1
a palace in heaven
see through the mist
a one-wheeled cart comes flying
curtained carriages tend that way too

through a part in the clouds
see virtuous girls

in the golden book
they’re partying non-stop

I know where to go
my problem is merely
what to tell the driver


2
these heavenly cabbies really are loons
bank and turn

there’s the tiger’s back business
for brakes they simply claw the clouds

gears out the window – it’s all overdrive
but the winds of heaven could blow you away

still – if you want to ring those bells
you have to fly over the forest


3
entering the clear jade of heaven
is the best way to become a goddess

‘her dragon dress whisks in the cloud
the tiger flag flutters before’

too much thinking will lead to more thoughts
‘the thing in mind’ is a thing that’s soiled

best to keep clear of poems like this
instead – just let the spirit come

mountains straight and lofty
jade so bright it shines in us

a dawdle on the milky way
then dark streams of night are lost

the dao has to be from somewhere
bound somewhere

we’ll meet I know – in everlasting joy
there’s nothing up here but air


4
in the high clear place
a miraculous carriage
brings me to the bright jade peak

air in me, air out
everything around me home

white sun in the morning
yellow moon in the night

the sky is a sacred temple
and empty

just once a fat goose flew so high





332
a poem for the heath transplanted

I sigh for the heath
grew south here once

transplanted to the capital
nor snow nor frost
can make it wither

there’s no self-pity in those limbs
its flowers like a bird in flight

when the winter sun rises
how delicate beaded dew

the rain will try to wash out colours
what’s a flower to do

but spread its petals through the courtyard
be everywhere, in every corner

poems compete with the birdsongs of pear trees
songs vie for the orchid’s sweet breath

at dusk indoors when we sit down to tea
this heather’s sunset in our cups





333
poem in praise of the pine clad in dew

what would the sky say
heaven I mean
dew on the pure and blossoming pine
what better omen than that?

rivers surge under
Spring flows with breezes
what power has mist to mar a fine evening?

listen to the birds in flight
calling each to each
a thousand years – the same birds speak

stars in the black sky are called to account
by morning though never all numbered

let there dews and let there be breezes
dawn full of the fragrance of pine







334
tears in the post

at night only lamps will see a sad face
ink runs, tears pierce fine paper

if you want to post your tears
to a loved one
the Yellow River will be best

no single tear is ever lost there
nor will those yearnings come to a rest






335
for the river and the Spring rain

over the river
flowers and trees cold
in rain lies the Spring
withered, fallen

honest exile
leads to a wandering life

after the rain
no birds sing

the world’s sad corners
so far from each other

snow falls
to show the first light welcome

up to green grass
river comes chanting
only the fish all ears

what’s water here
to the dust of Changan?

the going-home boat
blown onto its moorings
the cart in mud come stuck

against all my griefs of exile
men labour the day as I’ve set down

my one clean handkerchief
I’ll offer






336
happy rain

a single cloud to mar the morning
by dusk a thousand li of rain

makes wet branches of the highest crag
turns dust to mud down stairs