Lin Ling ( 1935- )

Endlessly sinking --
My wings into the waves of your eyes.
How much I hope,
How much I hope,
That we will sink beautifully down,
Into a kingdom forgotten by Apollo,

Where we will walk and leave no footprints,
Just as the rivers there do not rise in the highmountains
But originate in the ocean.
That breeze is no more a breeze.
The wood on the hill is no more
A wood on the hill.
We are no more ourselves.
We are dust.
We are everything.
Yet everything again, all in one brief glance
Will be denied all value.
Oh, how I hope. . . .



I dreamt of you and you decided to start breaking the rules.