Requiem

for Shanshan The wave of that year flooded the sands on the mirror to be lost is a kind of leaving and the meaning of leaving the instant when all languages are like shadows cast from the west life's only a promise don't grieve for it before the garden was destroyed we had too much time debating the implications of a bird flying as we knocked down midnight's door alone like a match polished into light when childhood's tunnel led to a vein of dubious ore to be lost is a kind of leaving and poetry rectifying life rectifies poetry's echo