MOURNING – 陳銘華 Chen Minghua

Chen Minghua 

Time flies like light passing through blinds to the second shelf on the first book rack by the window, an old alarm clock between a few books of poetry, lingering on the second hand, as big as “Driftwood” by Luo Fu, but I still browse like an impatient youth to verify yellowing memories the umpteenth time.

Translated by MW, May 2020



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