Poetry Collection

Time and Strings (2021)

Time passes through both sides of me.

One forward, one backward.

I reach out my arms, attempting to feel the flow.

Cold and slow.

From the both sides of me,
I snatched one stream of time
and braid them like how my mother braided my hair. Memory is encoded into each knot.

"If moments are cells,
We are streams of days and ..."

Mother kept braiding my hair as I was thinking.
New knots are made, while the older ones are disheveled by the wind, the soggy summer air, the Ice Age.

I snatched another stream from time. The flow is cold and slow.

Mom Can We Talk? (2022)

我和你之间是厚重的空气

沉甸甸的云拥挤形成雨

雨又形成冰

音波长着刃

凌厉的光直入眼睛

投射在视网膜上

我得知倒转的脐带

以及你望着我的眼睛里也曾有雨

却在迎来春分后迅速入冬.

站在薄如蝉翼的风上

我极速下坠.

Mom Can We Talk? (2022)

Between me and you is ponderous air.

Hefty Cloud crowd, forming Rain.

Rain evolves to ice.

Sonic waves are edged with blades,

chilly light invades eyes,

and projects itself onto the retina.

I see a reversed umbilical cord,

and the eyes you used to look at me held rain.

But soon winter came right after spring Equinox.

Standing on the wind thin as cicada's wings,

I descend rapidly.

Crater Lake (2021)

Lake water forms thousands of ridges.

Flow.

A hundred thousand and one crests merge into one hundred thousand gorges. The rest sink into the abyss.

Fast forward the tectonic movement
and project geological history on the surface of the water.
Volcanic eruptions and glacier formation are scaled down to fragments of sine waves.

I'm looking at the whole Blue as it splits into 180,000 mirrors, glass burrs grinding against one another.
The worker sawing steel by the roadside,
Sparks burned his eyes.

10:27am, sitting in a cemetery in Nagasaki (2017)

The world is colossal.

A few pieces of land and bodies of water cannot easily make up the earth. Space is only the horizontal axis.

As for the vertical, we call it time, measured by days, seconds, and microscopic units.

The world morphs.
High-speed camera bursts snap one million shots every ten seconds. Each image aligns, but imperfectly.
Subtle nuances exist between frames.

In the ten seconds that dene this moment,
the red light turns green, the current in the sea shifts, and I walk out of my tiny apartment.

The next ten seconds,
Clouds drift to envelop the moon; stray cats that were caterwauling fall into deep sleep, I take the trash out.

In a certain ten seconds in this timeline
Earth-shattering and catastrophic things happen; they change the trajectory of the world eortlessly. Wars break out, forest res spread, asteroids crater the Earth.
If you glance over at the Earth then, you must be startled.

Of course there will also be great happiness:
the invention of the airplane; the liberation of a nation.

A certain ten seconds may be important to you, but it does not change the essence of the world.

After countless ten-second bursts, you and I are erased. Intersections turn into desert.
The sky turns red.

Minor-Scale Collision (2018)

I tried to understand you at micro level,
knowing every molecule of you comes from 13.7 billion years ago. They sprinted for uniting and separating,
forming a You at this point.

My billions of particles trekked all the way through the galaxy as well, They urge me to realize, you and I used to belong to one complete body.

When my particles percept your existence, Blood molecules speed up my arm swings, I cannot help but breathe rapidly.

The encounter between you and me,
is the reunion of billion particles;
the ash coming back to the pre-universe;
an ordinary miracle that happened in 13.7 billion years.

You see,
at this moment in the universe,
two mini planets fall to each other’s atmosphere, forming a splendid stellar collision.