Beyond a thousand barren hills, the trees stand bare.

“Bare hills reveal the sky’s vast dome;
Moonlit river flows in clarity.”
— Huang Tingjian, Ascending the Happy Tower

I lost the match, clutching my aching hand,
trudging alone along the roadside.

Autumn dusk yellows autumn leaves,
autumn wind scatters autumn longing.

Pale ginkgo leaves fall like fine rain,
brown sycamore leaves spill between the lines.

This apricot-hued snow blurs my vision—
momentarily indistinguishable:
which are sycamore’s crimson descent,
which are ginkgo’s drifting vermilion,
still adorned with youths’ bustle
and lovers’ tears.

Let northern fallen timber bury
the solitude of homeward wanderers.

O southern wind,
might you grant us
the same southern snowfall?

September 28, 2022
Xi’an