I live in your fist for a while
For you to feel worn breast
Like a blackbird that was hunted
He lay wounded among the chrysanthemums.

I live in your hair for a while
Let’s listen as the wind whistled through the groves.
You shook your thoughts temples
Let me recite poems in small whisper.

I live under your steps for a while
Let me play you a road recreation
And the heavy clouds, as ill-smoke
Diligently to collect them into snow balls

And now using the November stratagems
Let’s put on every tree, in princess clothes.
I, snowflake, back home again
I lingered a while in your palm … … “