Wenjun Liu

A spoon of moonlight
Two cups of shadow
Mixed with the pouring rain of summer
And buried under deep winter snow.
...

Out you spluttered from blinding mist
Morning dews splashed under feet.
Always just in time,
The beetle took its flight
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Dyed the hues of a fading wind
With the feels of a soft wink
It touched the calmest creek
And stole the song from waterside reed.
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Sipped your wine and fluttered by
With lingering scent and hovering eyes.
Your gentle wings rippled my heart
That let up my hair with breath you start'.
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Till we both cease to care
And remembers no more,
The black locust stands there still
Silent evermore.
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She speaks in metaphors
If ever she speaks.
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My dearest Louis
Writing paper is as dear as ever.
Old school books will have to serve for now,
Pages running out as I write to thee.
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Your startling colors halted my step.
From a windowsill dangled your dressing gown damp.
A glimpse of rainbow
At the interval of a storm.
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Stray cat wandering with hungry eyes
Leaves dripping in dusty light
Eyes cloudy under a cloud heavy sky.
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I walked through your woods
Isolated by your lonely hue.
Each bough lower
Piled with your snow.
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Her lips paled with cold
Her smile quieted by snow
With heavy lids, she 's not asleep yet.
Under her gown, snow rained down still.
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Breathe in the wintry tide
Lungs still full of summer dust
Reflecting a thousand light.
All stars to dust
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Dark side of moon hiding behind
Like a stranger.
A stroke of white on canvas black
Heart beating with dancing candlelight.
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Paint the sky a darker hue
You steal the light of a summer day new.
Cast the outside a desolate feel
You, with a whisper, do change the view.
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Before the day, before the rise,
Let there be a longer night.
I would sit by my window side,
With shutted curtains and drooped eyes.
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I looked up and into the sky
Expecting a sunny night,
Where cherry blossoms would sing
And twirl out their rosy din,
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A thousand eyes the dawning field hide'
All the blanching stars of a fading night.
Who is the first to rise
and wake all who might,
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She encounted a begger along a country walk
Who with face bended could barely talk.
Into his chipped mug, she threw her last shilling,
that staggered to the bottom with a silvery tinkling.
...