When I decided to take action the night opened its eyes
Stretching its limbs to hang the lamp at the cave entrance.
They are the same matter: the drops and ripples
that we tranquilly hear. In front of the collapse
and the falling rocks
They are the same matter:
the comes and goes
of sounds of windswept grasses.
Gradually transferred
love, or without love
we were separated
by that disproportionate
sorrow. Separated in-
to two matters. Time was being marked.
I was reproached
by time, saying that it’s my
crime: We shall forget. They don’t know
and could never know that the query should’ve stood
along with the answer.
Note from translator: I came across this beautiful poem of Ann Dai on Taiwan’s famous forum , and I reached out to her, asking if I could translate and publish the poem here.
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