when red rosépetals speckled into a river

a handkerchief was drying on the bay

with a thousand drops of tear

we were made, love out of a sonnet



when yellow tangerines speckled into a river

a handkerchief was left on the bay

with a face of eighteen years old now

we were made, a connection to Mozart



when white sweetrices speckled into in a river

a handkerchief was dried on the bay

where no one could sing and translate

we were back, to a missing Chinese May



when no longer can the poet be seen

we are in Chinese May, in Chinese May