Poems of Xue Tao
Spring plunges the landscape into immortal red clouds
and on the river's surface, fish flash like flowers.
Our human world can imagine no mystery to compare
with these pink knots that stain soft sands.
A later poem I think. It seems better than most of the poems so far, covering more ground with its limit of twenty-eight characters. It may be that Xue Tao did not have time for her own poetic efforts until she left the district headquarters and struck out on her own. If she stayed as long as I think she did, she was forty-seven when she took Daoist orders.
PS. I love the title, worthy of Charlie Monroe.