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1.

Tired winds carry with effort fallen leaves, tumbling,
floating, flying involuntarily, like us -
being carried, being carried, either by car or ferry
Formless thoughts crowding seats, unable to carve out time

unable to vocalize neon-fused desires
reflection rising and falling on the ocean surface

What are street cars chasing after on the highway?

Cannot break through ennui; only love broadcasted from the radio station
can remind people of the acceptance that became imagination
If the city is a forest
will it sway

for us, a person’s wanderings?

Each step a longing, the friends who walked before me
now left behind, do not know when they will be gone

Only know that the fireworks have long died out

but do not know what I am gazing at, what I am complimenting
Still remembering the image of the dead engraved on film
Speechless, we are all the same.

2.

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Tired winds carry with effort fallen leaves, tumbling,

floating, flying involuntarily, like us –

not knowing where we land

not knowing what land our roots stem from
The previous generation planted houses

and we disperse like smoke from each window
 

Pushing aside the ashes, would the fireworks-burnt picture

find itself, or more forked roads?

The dead cry for the ends of paths, but who can feel it?

If the city is a core

will it feel tears on fingertips

from us, a person’s silence?
 

Pushing aside the ashes, the sweat-bedewed bills

glue grieving people together

and become the only number, rising and falling, to be felt

If the city is a planet

will it preserve the feeble eternity

for us, a person’s pursuit

 

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