Poetry

The only way

I wrote about a butterfly

a waking garden

I sat silently in an empty afternoon

It was flying.

I have nothing but

a world belongs to me when I write

bugs and snakes take turns dancing beside me

wings in the dark and light

wet over the mud wall

they are beautiful and dangerous. Never take care of me

I walked into this garden with a deep foot and a shallow foot

Who brought so much green

Walking in this huge silence

This road leading to the butterfly's marriage

I walked alone. It's flying

now it's the only road that favors the secluded light in the lush trees

I hear those sleeping in the shell

put them in so many drawers

fold themselves in the order of sunlight

I wonder if horses will be hidden on both sides of the road and deep in the trees

. Temple

Will a woman in a red robe

bring another heavy snow through here

A butterfly escaped from her parents' home

, and a butterfly told me that

Shuicun Mountain is cold and the sunset is round

And this road that was cut off by the waist in the dark

is its back and forth life

and it is also my last life.