Bing Di Fu Rong · Half a Life Too Late

Dawn moon, no sleep; the dream-rain beats the leaves into disarray; the water clock's silver dragon is almost run dry. White paper takes a blue-green stain; the gathered spirit draws closer still. Knowing full well that fortune runs good or ill, keeping to the season, and nothing lasts—there is nothing to resent. Muffled thunder, roll upon roll. I think back: when the swallows left, did they ever once pause?

My beloved fades slowly into the color of mist; I go after, but the traces are gone, the wheel of rebirth lying across the way. Ink rinsed, lotus threads steeped—the night's chill is the crueler. Who will make the vow whole again? Half a life apart, we would hardly know each other. Say nothing, ask nothing—as things stand now, there is only more estrangement.