The stars take a walk on the roof, while my fingers
on your face.
From the depth of the alley, daisy fragrance
comes to the window.
My fingers stroll on your nose, which turns
into a high mountain. Growing inside
are countless trees, dark as night.
Dark as they are, they keep turning out,
though it is in vain.
Yes. They keep turning out without sunlight.
My fingers have been walking on your lips
for so long now; they lost their language.
The bird locked up in your throat struggles
with winter. My fingers come across
your heart, where a volcano
About the author:
Deng Deng is the author the poetry collection I Say. Her works appear in many major Chinese literature magazines and anthologies. She won the 2006 China Pioneer Poetry Prize by Poem Selection Magazine, the 4th Ye Hong Female Poetry Prize and the 21st Rou Gang Poetry Prize Award for Best New Poets.