Sunday, June 23, 2019


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


translated by Steve Bradbury


Yang Mu
Hawk of the Mind
Columbia, 2018