Gently Is My Longing Boiled
Zhou De Cheng
The living: weary; the dead: weary
The wind bends at its waist, and even the night knows no rest
To stand: ennui; to sit: ennui
The joss stick curls, and I would rather be half-asleep than wide awake
Hesitation ruthlessly softens your legs
Grief deeply runs through your furrowed brows
The fire boils my longing so slowly, so slowly
Smoke trailing our offerings into the air so gently, so gently
Translated by Hao Yang
