Spring Song No. 4
Yang Mu

The desktop wallpaper polished by the city every day
now spreads over the table where I am sitting.
On a chair, my black book bag carries
the granite cliff of last night’s dream, its carving
unfinished. A few bird whistles shoot from
the fissures of the steep walls. I let them slowly suspend
in the skies of the ravine, my arms lowered in thoughts
lest they disturb the progress of a fledgling poem.
Turning to the left, I open a new window on
the floor-to-ceiling glass. Its resolution is higher, albeit
black and white. I watch Takkiri Creek, where
I washed my feet as a kid, change from monochrome
to golden, to every color in the cup as I stir my coffee.

Illustration by Li Yiyang.

《春歌之四》
陳黎

小城日日擦亮的螢幕新桌布
現在鋪在我坐著的桌子上
我的黑書包在椅子上，裡面裝著
昨夜尚未完全切割成形的夢的
大理石峭壁。幾聲鳥鳴從
峭壁的縫隙傳出，我讓它們
慢慢停格於峽谷的天空，垂手靜思
不要干涉一首詩成長的秩序
我轉向左，在落地玻璃上另開
一視窗，它的畫質更高，雖然
只有黑白兩色。我清楚看到童年
濯足的立霧溪，在我攪動咖啡時
在杯中，由黑白轉金燦轉七彩