Late: but it is still Dia de los Muertos, where the Pacific's waters wash the shore.
I.
The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.
On the marble pavement dust grows.
Her empty room is cold and still.
Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.
Longing for that lovely lady,
How can I bring my aching heart to rest?
"Lament for Li Fu-Jen,"
Emperor Wu-
(
Read more... )