Crossing Half of China to Sleep with You
To sleep with you or to be slept, what’s the difference if there’s any?
Two bodies collide — the force, the flower pushed open by the force,
the virtual spring in the flowering — nothing more than this,
and this we mistake as life restarting.
In half of China, things are happening: volcanoes
erupting, rivers running dry,
political prisoners and displaced workers abandoned,
elk deer and red-crowned cranes shot.
I cross the hail of bullets to sleep with you.
I squeeze many nights into one morning to sleep with you.
I run across many of me and many of me run into one to sleep with you.
Of course I can be misled by butterflies
and mistake praise as spring,
a village similar to Hengdian as home.
But all these are absolutely indispensable reasons that I sleep