The Passage into the Woods, Visiting Tolstoy’s Home, a Poem

林中路。 楊佳嫻/攝影

With photo attached, translated…

The Autumn Day Made This Dome of Gold

The Crows Came Back with an Entire Sky

A Thousand Years’ Worth of Horizons

The Two-Hundred Years’ Birch Forest

The Wind of Nineteenth Century

Blew on Between that Ancient Farm House and the Electric Towers

So, Dry Up, You Aging Plain

not my photograph…

The Travelers Recognized the Passages of Birds

Picked Up that Fallen Apple

Heard the Tea Kettle Whistled

And Drank Up that Bitter Juice that’s Been Brewed

Let’s, Let’s Learn to Stand Up

Slowly, Bend Forward, Lying Back Down

Flattened, Like the Butter Spread Out

The Black Rye Breads Like the Thick Ground

And You Can Only Take

What’s There, on that Plate

drawing from online…

Walking for Half an Hour into the Woods

Less and Less People Would Choose to Do that These Days

And Now, it’s, Filled with, Noises

To Lying Back Down, on that Pillow of Literature

Covered in, Moss, for that Minute’s Worth of Serenity

Those Hearts that Pitter-Pattered Waiting by the Station

Everything that the Journey of the Revolutionaries Brought

Becoming Bloodied Red like the Beets

And Lived Long, as Firmly as, the Potatoes

So, even as the times come and go, it still can’t erase what once happened here, a place that’s, rich in history of man…

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