Poems of Meng Jiao
Furls of Jade Cloth
Dust rises from my footsteps as
Mountains smile above peaceful cliffs.
Heaven opens above screens of purple rock
And veils of moonlit mist rise from the streams.
Where immortals gather we exploit their traces
And divinity is revealed as red clouds part.
It's as if good news is right around the corner,
Glimpses of an end without taint of evil.
How can we enter into simple happiness,
Immerse ourselves in ways of joy?
Or walk where death has no occasion,
Desiring to return from superfuous thought?
Those enthralled by the past suddenly awaken.
Present is demanding, past remains submerged.
Past and present, neither is sufficient.
Speech or silence, both threaten our peace.
I send you these furls of jade cloth,
Washed clean upon these mountian heights.
I try to imagine a poet of our present age writing such a poem. Or conceiving such a title of a poem. And I cannot.