a child carrying flowers walks toward the new year
a conductor tattooing darkness
listens to the shortest pause
hurry a lion into the cage of music
hurry stone to masquerade as a recluse
moving in parallel nights
who’s the visitor? when the days all
tip from nests and fly down roads
the book of failure grows boundless and deep
each and every moment’s a shortcut
I follow it through the meaning of the East
returning home, closing death’s door
—Bei Dao, “New Year” (translated by David Hinton with Yanbing Chen), 1995
