Bai Xue · Forgetting the Dust

Snow drives hard on the eaves and the steps, and passes — it is over — the floating life on the pillow, faint and half-remembered. I look level into the hazy wilds, keep watch alone over the disordered years, and — ah! — how many daybreaks. Before ever I have heard it, the north wind rises, falls again, and settles, settles. Only just now, after so long, do I gather up my scattered thoughts; a goose broken from the line is ready to fly west.

Leaves over all the ground, cold and cheerless, wear away the shadow I turn to look at, rubbing the airy void between my fingers. Everywhere in sight the scenes of a mirage tower; laughter and play cover the sound of the strings. With light, swaying steps — you and I as we were then, pointing under the moon at a far peak. A sudden breath blown at the cold ash of the candle, and the frost-white drains the last of that foolish love away.