"Dream" I am determined to imagine a retractable door, always ready to block my eyes in distant dreams without being corroded. Listening to the interesting sound engulfing the beach, I am still trying to write a poem that is salty or talkative, stop the language at my fingertips and listen to the rain. There is also a yearning that is not far away, but no one knows that passers-by wandering in the rain have become lonely as sculptures. Millennium's eyes are still dreaming with you. Looking back at the grassland that has turned into snow.
Compared with the sea, Dianchi Lake is a trivial task. Compared with the sea, you are the soft blue light of Long song. I can't have a panoramic view of you when climbing the western hills. You would rather let the vast smoke cover your face, but leave some fishing sails as footnotes to the riddle.