Aeolian sigh

Soft words
Of the fragile indigo plants whisper
Of the violet wind. 
Like a quiet discussion echoing
Yesterday in the adytum. 
The sun is tender.

I am
The outcast, and
I stand proudly
Outside the wall. 
I notice the world
With my cold eyes, and
Kiss it
When I want to. 
I hear the wailing of
The uncompromising lake
As it creases.

It is now daybreak, and
Above, 
The light green aurora fades, and
The dying cicada
Weakens, as it becomes colourless.

The end, too, becomes transparent and clear.

Dale Chou
1999-09-06