For Apricot Blossoms

Apricot blossoms, rhetoric of spring

Awakened by the breeze to the momentary fury

We read almond blossom poems in the almond garden

Only a single flower on the branch is missing

In the cold of spring, there are remnants of flowers everywhere

Sending the pale, little by little, into the mud

As if it had reached the lips of the dead

We insist on reading aloud for the dead

From the city of Wusun to the land of Guzi

There, under every almond tree

Under every almond tree, there is a wine cellar, and the soldiers returning from the slaughter

Soldiers returning from slaughter, drunk all night long

Mistaking dancers for peacocks

And see the rain of flowers as a flying sky

History is a leaky altar

Dispersing the fragrance of wine and all the fragrances

We carry the dark force of time

And yet we appear as each person is

At this moment, after finishing the reading

I walk through the fading apricot orchard in silence

Far from the large green apricot groves on the hillside

Like a drifter, like a flock of sheep

Loved and hurt by fragile things

Having a moment like an apricot blossom