Who still remembers how he looks like?
No, it's his cousin who's always in red,
asking everyone to keep calm, and...
He still keeps silent in spite of the fact
that he's fading away in our mind.
(A dangling strand of curly hair
a buttoned up, and earrings which never come at a pair.)

Either traffic or time washes him away,
as no one has ever noticed now his shadow under the sunset
is even longer than the toss-and-turn we once had at nights.
He’s the only one who will be quiet when listening to others
but we just snub/phubs him, and keep passing by.

the ***** atmosphere              a clear skyline.

a pumping subconscious       a motionless intention.

a bright gray omen                 a dull red novel.

(shattered and picked up, shattered and picked up.)



looking forward snowing      scared of winter.

cramming the leaks                draining the pond.

tiredly awaken                        clear-headed asleep.

(buried and dug out, buried and dug out.)



imagining a garden                 mowing the sprouts.

chasing the stars                      scrubbed by the dusks.

lamenting the stream              exalting the clock.

(grasped and slipped away, grasped and slipped away.)

If you were ten years younger, and I were fifteen years older.

I would have my glass of champagne clinked your beer bottle
and whisper to you: “The Tigers will win the next game, don’t worry”.

I would put the carrot cupcake on which I’d had a bite already
on your plate and say: “I want to trade it for the popsicle in your hand.”

I would point at the dazzling lights in the darkness while leaning on the railing
and ask:  “Can your house be seen from the roof?”

I would invite you to an eight-ball when I was tipsy
so you could see my rapt expression and bent-over body
then come next to me and say: "Let me show you how to hold the cue stick."

Waves again and again
chant the dirge deeply and sadly.
Petals are sprinkled on the water
for there's no moonlight on that day;
My memory submerges with the tides.
Coldness numbs the skyline,
lamenting the deposited good old times.

If you had smiled to me
I would have known
I was just a random rainy season in the South.
Coming and leaving out of the blue
drizzles tapping gently on the ground.
You described the gray day as poetic
and still was in favor of the passion of clear, blue sky
white cloud with or without.

I was a random rainy season in the South
caught you off guard when you were leaning on the windowsill.
Reversed the day and night to compose a new song
one that would be catchy yet difficult to remember,
that would initiate you to show me the tricks to dance
when I didn't tell you there were complicated lyrics
secretly put under the simple rhythm.

The excitement of summer would never be negated
as you put on the sneakers and lit up a cigarette.
The numbers on the calendar leaped forward
Between us another step closer
but the music had been switched.
Yours was white as usual
but mine had lost.

When the next fall comes we will both change.
It will take another time for you to show me around.
Behind the tinted glass and small roses newly settled under the curtain
I was recognized as a rainy season in the South.
Everything else stays the same
but I just hope you can find out
there actually was a regularity
in those days when I came by.
when the leaves were green, the coffee you ordered would be iced
when we met up, there was no longer a stain on the sky.

It was the first time that I recognized October’s face clearly.
With his big eyes open, not saying anything,
he gently handed me a bunch of flowers.
A cool breeze passed by,
and I’ve inscribed your voice into my mind.

Please be sunny tomorrow, I prayed.
In hopes of taking a stroll along the moonlight with you
in your shirt powder blue,
to the place you’ve been so familiar with
but I’ve never been to.

July is the best season to buy basketball shoes.
I still remembered the first time I smelled your perfume,
my heart fluttered, as I found out
you smoke the same Marlboro as I do.

The weather of July
makes everything become so long.
Long enough to take a nap,
to make a heavy rain in my dream.
Let me bring you an umbrella
after you got totally drenched.

And the best part of July is that there
are countless blue skies to be wasted.
The white cloud doesn't look clear enough on the camera,
so I take out my guitar,
singing French songs one after another.

You make me want to keep my diary
everyday in July.

It was the day several years ago. Sunny as it is today.
It was you sitting at the desk,
outlining the halo deflected from the words.
Tranquilness fell next to your feet
had the sound of a tropical ocean when you stepped on it.

It was the day several years ago. Rainy as it was yesterday.
It was you dashing out of the awning,
pounding the haze to the beat of the laughters.
Drops spilled on the cup rim
had the color of a stayed-up night when you looked at it.

It was the hill flamed with red flowers. Blossoming as it will be tomorrow.
It was you lighting a cigarette,
standing in the pure white clouds.
Particles colliding with one other. Ruptures being exposed.
I stood in the shadow underneath the gorge,
watching time flowing by with sparkles floating on the breeze.

You were up there smiling at me,
unaware that it was even darker
when you spreading the petals on the stream.

fill the mug with coffee to fall asleep consciously
close the windows to vent out my delusion
put on a red sweater to render rainy days a blush
stack up the clocks to overlap the tik toks

compose a song without giving it a name
take pictures without inserting a memory card
An old-fashioned way to say “I think about you” is to say
“I keep my diary everyday.”