A Flurry of Snow
What flitted back across the hills yesternight, without a sound
I thought was a long buried matter of the heart
from the deepest recesses of a valley wallowing in death
With my own eyes I saw her open a little doorway onto the garden
tentatively venture forth, look here, there, then
promptly disappear, leaving, in the end, still
the very heart of winter, nothing but traces
1996
translated by Steve Bradbury
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Yang Mu
Hawk of the Mind
Columbia, 2018
