Pavilion of Swallows

At the Pavilion of Swallows, I repeat the steps that Lady Panpan paced. The moon is bright like frost. Wind flows like water. The views from here are endless. Fish jump in the curved bay and nobody notices the lotus on which dew pools in large ovals. I was lost in thought, but three drums, a sonorous leaf, wakes me from my dream. The darkness is endless. I walk around the small garden, but what’s gone is forever gone. I’m a tired traveler, looking for a home. I will never be at rest. The doors are locked. We can’t be like the swallows that fly out in the evening. Past and present are only dreams, but we can’t wake up from them. Old joys and new griefs haunt us. After I’m gone, too, travelers will visit, enjoy the view, and sigh for the old poet.