Remembering the Kunwu road
that wound along the Yusu River
shadow of Purple Tower Peak
falling in Meipei Lake
the stalks of fragrant rice
mostly stripped by the parrots
in the emerald parasol tree
mests of the aging phoenix
walking and talking with lovely women
picking up kingfisher feathers in spring
like immortals together in a boat
setting out at evening
I used to write about such things
wielding my writing brush
now I stare into the distance
bowing my white head.