Think about what else can be written in the middle of the poem. Go on.

The water vapor has been lost, the ground is cracked and the dust is flying.

There is a series of coughs in the street

Stepping on an empty place, the whole city is at MINUS ten degrees.

Stop thinking, exile, and breathe.

Hay, wall roots, ice and mountain tops.

In the morning, the snow came.

Wrapped in the breath of the mountain stream, the white butterfly flapped its wings.

Buildings, trees, vibrations.

Remove the exfoliated cortex.

After wetting, it softens into soil.

Eyes, inch by inch, cover it.

Blowing bombs can break the boundary between day and night. Lift your eyelids.

Be ashamed of land, trees, houses, Yuan Ye and rivers.

Buried in the jumper, take a shower and change clothes.

Look at the snow flowing.