With nothing but time and the light of the Singer, and no one to come now forever
Tailing Dam stands tall, Mine Lake hangs high. At dike’s end stand a few grasses, snake-like.
Something in a locomotive, that black-clad traffic’s rush, something in the silver-tinted background: always that tally of progress & catastrophe, engines wrecked
After his friends rigged a pulley and lowered the pack
It’s not new, this condition, just for awhile kept deep in the cortex of things imagined
Long I had heard of Lake Tung-t’ing And now at last I have climbed the tower.Wu is to the east, and Chu to the south,
