Hsia Yü

We met in a coastal village spent a lovely night without leaving an address going separate ways. Three years later we meet again by coincidence. The whole three years spun a novel we abandoned: They fail to recognize themselves as though meeting in another story for an encounter. One asks: Who are you, so cold and weary The other says: I only know a thread is loose on my sweater The more you pull it, the more it lengthens until I completely vanish.

I turn around. I feel Monday’s well-shaven face lightly caress my left shoulder most cherished part most crucial here and now