A poem by
Li He (791-817)
The moon, it blazes.
Horses stampede
across the clouds,
driven by whirlwinds.
She dances through
the autumn dust,
her pale breasts shine.
Seed pods burst
in the forest, but
dark hyenas cry
tears of blood.
Foxes shiver and die.
Dragons are driven
forth by rain-makers
into deep pools.
In its hundredth year
an owl suddenly
changes into a spirit
and hoots with laughter,
as green flames
leap from its nest.