After A Heavy Snow
By Parker Po-Fei Huang
A bank of whiteness
Is all I see. Have I
tossed away the world
or the world me? Or
is it just a single
moment that I stand on
a sheer precipice
with clouds passing
through me?
Some mists sweep the
sky. Some stars elicit
serenity. I feel that
I am gathering the
reflections of a flower
in the water and that of
the moon in the mirror—
no scent, no motion,
yet I sense eternity.
I stop breathing lest
I wake myself. From
where, of what world,
have I come here? I
turn my head and see
there are only footprints
that follow me.
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