Outside the smoke, I called your name in the waves, but your name has gone to the left shoe print in the tide outside Qian Fan. The shoe print on the right is afternoon dusk. In June, it was a very sad book, and the ending was so sad-at sunset, I still stared at the pure white in your eyes. I knelt down to you and looked at the beautiful sea of clouds yesterday afternoon. Why can I capture the blank light in all the lights? Your eyes, once called snow, are now called Yanjinlong Temple. Night bell is the only way for tourists to go down the mountain. Ferns gnawed at the white stone steps all the way. If it snows here, I see a frightened grey cicada lighting up the lights in the mountains. Because of the strong wind, I strolled along the river bank to the place where reeds bent down to drink water yesterday. By the way, please write me a long letter from the chimney in the sky, which is a bit sloppy. And my heart is as bright as the candlelight in front of your window, and it is inevitable that it is a bit ambiguous because of the wind. It doesn't matter whether you can read this letter or not. It is important that you get angry or laugh before all the daisies wither. Quickly find my thin shirt from the box, quickly comb your black and soft charm in front of the mirror, and then light the lamp of life with love. I am a fire that may go out at any time because of the wind. Sunset Xiangshan Many people watch the sunset at the top of the mountain. It is falling into a deep valley. Get out of the way Passing geese exclaimed loudly. Before they finished, the earth had already uttered a deep cry of pain. The story by the well was gently hoisted by a long rope. The chill did not disappear, and the sound of drumming on the crotch seemed to ring the heartbeat of a previous life. The horse drinker had just crossed the rope and suddenly broke the bucket. Moonlight shattered the ambiguous life by the well. Embroidered shoes said that half of the moss said that the other half was looking forward to the border, and we arrived at Lok Ma Chau. The fog was getting heavier and heavier, and we stopped at a loss, found our palms and began to sweat. We looked at the homesickness in our glasses and it expanded dozens of times. When the distance was adjusted to a heartbeat, a mountain in the distance flew head-on, which caused me serious internal injuries. I am sick, like a withered cuckoo on a hillside. There is only one flower crouching behind the "No Crossing" sign. At this time, an egret jumped up from the paddy field, flew over Shenzhen and suddenly turned back. At this point, the partridge read the smoke with fire, penetrating Joan Hinton in different places in March. I was burned red and my blood was boiling. You turned the collar of your coat and asked me if I was cold. After the shock, even the vernal equinox and Tomb-Sweeping Day are not far away. I actually understand Cantonese. When the rain turns the vast land into a blue language, here it is! You said Futian village is the soil of the old country surrounded by water. Within reach, it is still a cold fog that is caught thousands of miles away and sent to the shoe room. I give you a pair of cloth shoes. A letter without words has accumulated for more than 40 years. If I want to say it, I have to sew it on the sole. These words were kept secret for a long time. Some are hidden by the well, some are hidden in the kitchen, some are hidden under the pillow, some are hidden in the flickering light at midnight, and some are dried. Some are moldy, some have lost their teeth, and some have grown moss. Now, they are collected one by one and sewn on the soles of shoes. Maybe it's too small. Judging whether they fit the childhood dream of five watches is another matter. Please don't abandon them. The loneliness of missing for more than 40 years is all sewn on the sole. Postscript: My friend Zhang Tuowu and his cousin Shen Lianzi have been engaged since childhood. After breaking up in their hometown due to the war, the two have been separated for more than 40 years. Recently, through overseas friends, I suddenly received a pair of hand-sewn cloth shoes from my cousin. Tuowu held this pair of shoes, like holding a letter from home without words and thousands of words, and couldn't help crying. Now Tuoba Wu and his cousin are old, but love is a thing, but it is difficult to release it from generation to generation. This poem is written under the guise of Shen Lianzi's style, so the words are simple and plain. Go to Emei to find Li Bai and knock knock. There is no one in the temple. There is a mountain breeze passing through the hall, and there is a little smell of vomiting wine. There is an empty hip flask on the table. This is a mess and a forgetfulness. It must be for an unfinished four-line dance that I finally threw the pen and left a residual title. The glass is empty, so is the sorrow of the times, just like your robe washed white by moonlight. How the water of the Yellow River gets out of heaven is wine. If only he would never point his golden cup at the moon! It's just an excuse for drinking. Someone once said that he was an overbearing poet. But in the sunset of Yelang, you cling to your long shadow and fear that it will disappear. Writing in a flat tone is no longer lonely. Sometimes, the grass snake suddenly rises from the soles of its feet with white hair, and suddenly finds that the aesthetic distance between mirrors is very short. Isn't that yesterday? The first sentence I said after waking up was so amazing that the monkeys around me were scared and dispersed in a hubbub. I still see an oil-paper umbrella floating in the fog. You should come back as charming as a fairy, but I'm afraid it will delay my appointment with Lao Du. So I grabbed a wet bell and shook it back to Chengdu Du Fu Caotang. Postscript: In February 2005, at the invitation of Chengdu Municipal Government, I attended the first "Straits Poetry Club". On 26th, a reporter from sctv accompanied him to Emei Mountain downstream. When it rains in the mountains, the beauty of Emei is all hidden in the fog. There are many legends about Li Bai in the temple, but I can't find them anywhere, so I can only go home disappointed. A fly flies around the room and occasionally stops on a number on the wall clock. Time is running out. It can't walk. The hardest thing to catch outside time. I tiptoed after it and it flew away again. It perches on the white powder wall and rubs its hands and feet. Its compound eyes are almost dark blue. My illusory existence, raise your hands. I approached it quietly, rubbing my hands and feet. It must be longing for a cup of afternoon tea. Its breath deeply absorbs the breath of the universe. Difficult ... I suddenly photographed it and flew away from my finger. Just then, my broken and bloody shadow slipped rapidly on the wall. The second chapter "Salmon, Dying Gaze" is selected in the third section. When an eagle swooped down over the valley and took away a thin layer of moonlight on the river, the story was about to begin. Once we swim into the inland Adam River, it becomes a turbulent and silent grass fog on both sides. It's harder to control than I thought. It was light in the morning, but his face changed in the afternoon. I can't explain all the way. In the river where my body temperature is gradually losing, there are some fallen leaves floating. The language floating on the dangerous beach is completely unnecessary. Extending to the horizon, precipitousness and flatness are just joys and sorrows in the process of longitudinal wave amplification. There is no need to force, the bubble in the process of amplification is even more unnecessary for me to be timid, to look on coldly, to be extremely concerned, and to live for a certain philosophy. There's no need to die and there's no need to die. God reveres our breath, and the breath of blood-soaked lice. There is no need for excessive faith, just like a proud body. No need for piety. Before building the garden of life, our interior was covered with all kinds of poisonous weeds, and God didn't say anything. Our only enemy is that time has not yet completed a dream. The cycle of life comes to a wisp of smoke, which rises in the void and silently dissipates in greater silence. There is no need to stop the disease from fading. There is no need to be obsessed with aging. It is said that it is very toxic. Of course, there is no need to sublate, to be sublated, to be open-minded, to transcend, to be evil, to be evil, to smile, and to find a key with a short life. There is no need to leave the door open and let it float.
I won't make a fuss, and I dare not answer, because the wind is strong. Yesterday I strolled along the river bank to the place where reeds bent down to drink water. By the way, please write me a long letter from the chimney in the sky, which is a bit sloppy. And my heart is as bright as the candlelight in front of your window, and it is inevitable that it is a bit ambiguous because of the wind. It doesn't matter whether you can read this letter or not. It is important that you get angry or laugh before all the daisies wither. Quickly find my thin shirt from the box, quickly comb your black and soft charm in front of the mirror, and then light the lamp of life with love. I am a fire that may go out at any time because of the wind.