Tonight the moon is also full in Fuzhou, where my wife can only wait and watch alone. I’m sad to think of my little sons and daughters, too young to know why I’m far away in Changan. Her cloud of hair must be damp from the scented mist, her jade-white arms chilled as the light pours down. When will we both lean at the open window, drying our tears in the glow of an autumn moon?
© 2006 by Keith Holyoak (translator) First printed in Measure (2006)
