An overturned cup of wine.A stone path sailing in moonlight.Where the blue grass is flattened,an azalea flower abandoned.The eucalyptus wood swirls.Stars above teem into a kaleidoscope.On a rusty anchor,eyes mirror the dizzy sky.Holding up a book to shade the candleand with a finger in between the lips,I sit in an eggshell quiet,having a semi-transparent dream.
-Shu Ting
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