Waves on the Yangtze

A spot of red in the green mountain’s shadow— a rider surfs the waves on the Yangtze. I clap my hands to mock the drunken mountain and sing the song of the wave goddess. The sails are coming down at Xixing Ferry; the sun still touches the top of Yupu Mountain. I want to sing the melody of the tides as I drink to the prefect of Hangzhou.