"Yellow Crane Tower"

How advantageous for Cui Hao

that the person who left was an eternal.

If by some stroke of good luck we could all have his favorable luck.

At the point when I looked, I saw you roosted

between the wings of the crane. I was so childish;

it didn't actually occurred to me

that the crane probably won't return,

that this was not one of those yearly relocations —

the kind of thing where you leave,

what's more, following a couple of long stretches of get-together stories

as a bird gathers branches,

you return, with enough

for another home.

I went to the general store

to get a few nuts and birdseed.

I meandered carelessly through the walkways,

at a loss for what to purchase.

What sort of birdseed could captivate a crane?

Sunflower appeared to be excessively frantic:

fields of green stalks,

the sun above,

furthermore, — what else? —

a shadow at the skyline.

These days, I don't invest as much energy looking

for a crane somewhere out there.

It will come when it needs to;

it won't at any point come.

Cui Hao's sonnet closes with the dusk, despairing

along the dim waterway. In any case, despairing isn't exactly correct.

I will continue to look for a word to catch the inclination,

in the fragrant intensity of summer,

of just having fall on the brain.