the wind forces your eyelids shut again,

its cooling embrace lulling you

back to sleep.

my arms clutch onto this body of a teacup,

feeling the pulsating flow of pu’ erh inside

just one night, 

a sowing of the seed 

on a fertile plain

brought a fragile sapling into existence

on brambled, parched grass

brown with age and neglect

such brown fields cannot support,

cannot give, 

cannot love, cannot sacrifice

im sorry

that your upbringing

will be a cracked ming vase

the once serpentine, flowing dragons now

beheaded, torn apart limb by limb

the blue pagodas

eroded brick by brick

the red paint leaching off the walls

the ceiling crumbling on itself

im sorry.

i cradle you tighter,

my arms desperate

not to let the wind steal you from me.

the flowering scenery ever stoic witness.

im sorry i couldnt give you the life i wanted you to have

im sorry i brought you into my mess

i will fix it, i created it

we ram into the hard concrete grey together

red chunlian escaping from beneath

flowing black characters taunting me in the afterlife