|The Chinese Travelogue|
If you could dull its perspicuity, free it from chaos, limit its gleam,
liken it to a grain of dust, then it would seem to exist clearly.
They don’t fall, though they fall,
my old trees dip into the water
but do not get their long sleeves wet –
How often have we seen each other,
but each time like the first
my breathless heart races
with a completely empty bag
along the trunk, over the hills and gullies of branches
to the long, broad eyes of the churches
to the mirror on the altar
on the green floor.
Have we not wandered enough
to finally turn off
onto the only, dearest,
that offends no one?
The hat that makes one invisible.
The clothes of godliness, the clothes
fall from the eyes and don’t fall,
dip into the water and don’t get wet...
Trees: for you alone the word "I love" is worthy.
In falling, they fall not
the long sleeves of trees
dip into the water but donʼt get wet.
My ancient trees –
How many times have we seen each other,
yet each time’s like the first,
as I gasp, my heart heaving hard
with a completely empty pack,
along the trunk, over the hills and valleys of branches,
into the long wide eyes of temples
toward the mirror on the altar,
over the green floor.
Haven’t we wandered enough
to set off together at last
along the only pleasant
that bothers no one?
Cap conferring invisibility,
godly garment, garment of eyes,
in falling it falls not, dips into the water but isn’t wet.
Trees, for you only "I love you" will do.