rejectomorph | Clocks Reset (Reply)

The moon finds the western sky filled with fine mist unwilling to settle to mere earth. Hazed, its light scatters and disperses night. Dark pines hold fast the shadows, but their upper branches seem frosted by that aimless light, so that their clumps of dried needles glow pale gold. Utterly still, all night the air has been chilled by the cries of invisible hawks and fevered by the scent of flowers. Vapor and incongruity make me wonder if I have dreamed that I am awake.

MOON, FLOWERS, MAN

by Su Tung P'o

I raise my cup and invite
The moon to come down from the
Sky. I hope she will accept
Me. I raise my cup and ask
The branches, heavy with flowers,
To drink with me. I wish them
Long life and promise never
To pick them. In company
With the moon and the flowers,
I get drunk, and none of us
Ever worries about good
Or bad. How many people
Can comprehend our joy? I
Have wine and moon and flowers.
Who else do I want for drinking companions?

--translated by Kenneth Rexroth