The Mill Poem by Jone Guo

The mill of dusk has stopped
The water that remains is all black
No matter what it contains

Memory has been ground into fine powder
And collected into some old pottery jars
To feed the animals, those dependents of your life

Solitude has a shell of a certain shape
Like the roof, like some cotton comforter
Or this thin, perfect and complete skin

The time at this moment has chosen to be speechless:
Shut the eyes, close the book
Only to keep this dim yellow light
running down from its oil lamp


Jin Zhong 2007