Poems| Changming Yuan

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Loose Thought

Like a tiny fish
Swimming along a summer streamlet
To the nimblest human hand

Even after rushing into a pond or lake
It can never be caught
Within the largest net

Of language

The Meditating Mind

Imagine, how it bubbles
Bubbling like a swamp
With broken bubbles  

How it calms down
All ripples vanishing
Under the still starlight

An ocean of lotus
That blooms
Towards wisdom

In the Peach Flower Garden

You see no point
In dreaming the only dream that contains
Only fragments as unreal
As a collage in a mirage
The only fragments that make up history. You see

A point in the unlikelihood of a world
Where other creatures have long stopped


Among the seven colors
Of the paint, the painting
Gives rise to a swirl
Turning fast enough
To send you up to a little cloud
Like an eagle gliding through
The serenity of autumn sky

Neither the eagle nor you cast
Any shadow down as the earth
Keeps rotating as leisurely
As any other day beyond the black hole

When you return and stand on a
Hilltop, the painting is still
Unfolding itself, but the eagle has

Vanished high up into another sky 

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