The Old Street

The Old Street

A street was thinned into a line of words
In the palm of the history
Licking the withered autumn in the wind
By the tongue of a resistless silence

The back of the city
A passé play
The pace of movement
Woke up the dust on the screens

The spider in the corner of the house
Making a net under the golden moonlight
Jumped by pole vault
Fall in the oblivious state of a strong affection
Empty the swing
Latched the eyelids
Singing the soundless prayer
A street was thinned into a line of words


---CatherineYen
http://taiwanliterature.ning.com
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