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Poems

His Thought Made Pockets (1958)

Note to Wang Wei

How could you be so happy, now some thousand years
dishevelled, puffs of dust?
It leaves me uneasy at last,
Your poems teaze me to the verge of tears
And your fate. It makes me think.
It makes me long for mountains & blue waters.
Makes me wonder how much to allow.
(I'm reconfirming, God of bolts & bangs,
of fugues & bucks, whose rocket burns & sings.)
I wish we could meet for a drink
in a 'freedom from the thousand matters'.
Be dust myself pretty soon; not now.

His Thought Made Pockets (1958)