Not Remembering Which
Day
by Kongyin
Not
remembering which day
I
began to write poetry,
I
recall only that it rained.
Crowds
gathered
in
front of a gate,
trembling,
waiting for the sky to clear.
Around
the gate I walked
into
a desolate yard
where
fallen petals covered the ground.
Piece
by piece I picked them up
and
placed them on my heart.
That
day I was soaked.
Coming
out of the yard,
I
turned into a poet.
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