Taipei,1995

Nana, when the sky is filled with sexy bloody red,
tell me, are you and I one solitary mulled-over sorrow?

Nana, time is very slow with nothing to do and bleak.
We indulge in soft cotton feelings. Time confuses us
in its light and shadow
and the end of the century also splits us
with the only sign we possess

Nana, that place is where the ultimate end shows off.
We are encircled by a dejected deep erotic valley of
Water.
We lose our shapes. We hopelessly chew brownish grass.
This is our feeling. We are forgotten by sadness
beautiful and consumed
among lovely objects.

Nana, we tangle our feelings and limbs together.
Under the firmament of tears
we intimately hold on
and in imaginary barrenness there is nothing
but us entangled into one
absolute miracle.

Nana, our ancient long windy hair hurled freely about
like clear and winding fog
under the dark and mysteriously obscure sky.
What we embrace is meandering
when time and space intersect, when bodies bloom
in the enormity of the night. We are magnetized
gravely down to the bottom
under a sweaty waterfall of love.
How can we confront being drawn together
When assaulted by vehement sunlight?

Loss is surprisingly the fourth memory.

Translated by Willis Barnstone