Snow falls, taking flight,
roof and floor compressed to a single story,
mysteriously bearing and suppressing
the sound of the wind’s rolling, screech of faraway brakes
and the erhu’s melody, the motor growling
lightly below; all are sounds of falling
snow, filling the sky, everything covered over,
splintered, as ten thousand echoes
are night wings flying till morning,
Does snow have wings? Has a pure white
Engine and ice cold steering wheel; drives
to my window along a blue highway,
but it’s more astronaut than race car driver,
one who falls by another planet, toward
earth’s weightlessness; it’s like
the indulgences of love, fantasies
that what if far is actually close by;
A tap at my windowpane announces:
“Wait, I’m coming to get you
to go wherever you want to go-”
Spring Festival has passed,
the first snowfall-this is new
snow, falling in my morning.
Translated by Susan M. Schultz and Jennifer Feeley
EN 
MK