We vanish on a night like this
This is so good, as if pluck strings deep in the mountain.
What being heard are rocks, withered leaves. The creek nearly halts,
half still half motile.
Then, people feel bored, no shower, no good night,
fall asleep in melancholy.
No matter the moon shines or not, the abyss continuously deepens.
I said in the pond of time, we ought to fear a bit
during our course of free fall.
I mean ought to. This has nothing to do with
the arrived, and the yet-to-arrive.
Night falls, over and over again, no sign of exhaustion.
No matter how we cope with, we will cringe and huddle.
A Le, this is different from a hug, the only shared is
the sentiment that they are dispensable,
and we never said good night.