The Letter is false.
I seethed inwardly.
or rear again
how I am to face my brothers
or to keel over, as an anxious mountain
has ended
too late

often I sat
on the bench and waited
much for nothing,
as she has not contacted me in
many months I wonder
how much in love
she is

brother, I can write to her
saying that you died,
so that she may come quickly

because he's dark the following
morning
and if Heaven is kind
will return some day
looking around,
transfixing the future
begging for alms for food

the woman ladled out a measure of the best wine
and until the end I try not to forget
smile, sometimes, even then
with a drop hanging on my chin
tickles me

I remember then
I had not been wrong
in my choices

I'll muster my lanterns tonight
in the middle of the fifth lunar
month, drink it down
the illness over