A Faraway Season

by Tran Hung

The season gone but shadows still fall.
For decades we have toned our footsteps
together, and she comes to me now
like the moon first touches water,
like the sound of mist and flowers on the pensive road back,

the old, pensive road,
the road where people join people,
but she and I turn back, far away,
following the “Thanh Minh” beats.
She sits like a lotus at the end of the rainy road.
We are like white rice at the end of the rainy road
then she walks slowly,
very far…

On my side there is rain, on her side, a moon.
on my side there is a winter, on her side, a human face of sunflowers.
On my side, there are boats carrying yellow flowers,
On her side, there are a blue drop, a blue road, and a blue heel. (no??)

Slowly she walks
across a decade
and now she nods on the piano
listening to the folk song.
Life is like a bow
in spite of how far the arrow flies
but finally lands on the ground
the way she’s far away but comes back to me
painfully, like velvet!