A Bridge Built With Toothpicks
Were you there or just your vocals?
Lingering around my bridge
built with toothpicks like steel,
the river flows in my imagination.
I have a feeling that my boat floated.
Vocally, sounds sad, muffled your voice,
Nothing happened? I can't tell if far off or near.
A high-speed train crossed that bridge，
at this moment, here I am instead of there.
I sit alone and welcome midnight
across the urban track line
of Chongqing.
I am in my mind, urging a word
out of its storage unit of silence.
Chongqing, Nov. 25, 2021
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