Perhaps you have found love,
like a silkworm peeking
over the edge of her half-gnawed leaf,
or a pale wave crashing, carrying boats,
hopelessly onto the broken shore;
or a park bench soaking, in storm
that drives the world to silence,
or a red light blinking, dreaming
all the traffic stopping dead.
The clock keeps ticking, owls hooting,
because you have found love.
Or, perhaps you have not,
for the night comes probing
your quivering, crying heart.
Should you be suspicious, then
pull back the curtains for sure:
When the knocking on window begins,
only invite the right one in.
Voices under the Sun 陽光下的聲音 