The swinger the swirler the swirled: stop grieving.
I drink all night but in a diminishing appetite.
The scene outside is obscene from a humbling window.
My sentiment spreads, my famine a flagpole, a grizzle.
Birds sing songs from next year, or antique rescues.
I write but where shall I send them?
Let go—I shall go tie the flowers the leaves the whole orchard.
The outer curve is curved, shadows of countrywoman donors…
You bring me a cup of fresh tea that I love，
I return you two kapok leaves—like hand-waves.