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title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Yucheng Tao


 

Portland

In Portland's winter,
the scent of roses fills the dead volcano.
By night, roses call me to dream upon the mountain.
In the dream, the mountain becomes my body,
granting me power.
Outside the dream, peacocks dance in the forest,
their eyes full of the swaying shadow of roses
with their colorful feathers under the moonlight.
They drift into my dream.
I return to the volcano, to share an endless,
waking dream with the roses.