I want to sit on the banks of the Xi Jiang
Even if I am not connected to it in any way,
Yet.
I want to follow the west wind
Go to shadowy depths of cities, toss up ideas on mankind-
To opine about messages secretly received- opinions we’ve debated and have
Yet to.
I want to go where the lake has dried
Giddy when I dream of dropped treasure left behind- value, poor loiterers have
Yet to find.
I want to seek orange rinds
And follow them through the journey of tossed away remains
Protectors once, you know, in times of yesterday
I too have lost and have
Yet to preserve a place.
I want to peak through broken venetian blinds
Spy on sneaking criminals and discuss intentions
See how motives coincide
They entwine and have
Yet to preserve a place to fit in.
Where they are exactly how they perceive themselves, no chagrin
But, where they’re also still dreaming.