A Shuijing Zhulian Poem

Where The Disappearing Stops

the first thing to disappear was a name followed by
         endless road-signs
the hand I hold out the window is urged by an opposite wind
              to stay
if it’s not Beijing that becomes a ruin then it has to
          be me
in the joy of my one-woman disappearance, as far as everyone
          in my past is concerned
I am nearly as secret as decease.

through identical entrances we return once again
                to Beijing
Beijing’s clock time Beijing’s air temperature
             Beijing’s anxieties
none of these stop simply because of my momentary
dying.

in the time that I’ve been out of town
I have not been mourned
have not be called on
have not been asked after
the sun we use now is the same one we used in the past
once more Beijing has brought me
unforeseen lightness and heartache

Trans. Simon Patten 2003