Beneath sullied cloth, hastily covered
chain of seashells nestled
soundless, threads of an old story.
Your eyes, beneath lashes that catch
snow—I see the deep blue
sea of Junlado,
waves shining grey before the setting sun.
What are you doing here in the frozen north?
You came from seashores
cherry blossoms raining upon
your brown upturned face
dreaming of another world, you beautiful fool.
There is no other world when we
all suffer beneath endless winter.
Pity, a sweet face lined and streaked;
I watch it as you pour wine.
I, merely a wanderer
in rags, as we all are.
But I am strong, dear child.
Let me not see those purest tears
forming, unforming within
what are you doing here?
Go back to your land.
Swim, there, forget, in the bluegrey
Let joyful pearls make pure a salty sea.
We all suffer, but
deserve to go back.