Fa Qu Xian Xian Yin · Seen in Vain

Not troubling the heart, not hearing, not seeing, pale fingers touches the string and it shivers. Half a lifetime adrift; among the pillows the incense is ash; a flying dove slips into the hidden confinement. Sigh, sigh, sigh — once you have left people behind, who knows the rhyme inside the tune?

A hundred turns and pauses; the tangled strings sorted out, the notes and measures set in order; the heart's business cleared, I lift my eyes and the stream in the ravine sounds close. Eyes shut, I skim past wind and dust, break through the pass of feeling; the orchid pendant swings and shakes. Tears have their warmth and their chill; vexed at the red note-paper, I bear and keep bearing the business of dreams. Again I walk where the tower stands empty, and facing the moon the immortal butterfly beckons me on.