world without words
October 1, 2013
You polish words in rue-scented libraries,
and I live in bamboo-leaf gardens, a recluse
wandering every day the same winding path
home to rest in quiet, no noise anywhere.
A bird soaring the heights can choose a tree,
but the hedge soon tangles impetuous goats.
Today, things seen becoming thoughts felt:
this is where you start forgetting the words.
– Meng Hao-jan
You Are IT 
October 2, 2013 at 1:41 am
Gorgeous.
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