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Xiaohan Jiang

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Though the night is gone,

Its dream still stirs.

It brought me to an island

Desolate and wild as

A shifting cloud.


I, neither the captain

Nor the night, watch a man

Under the damp mist.

I shrink into a maple,

Gradually withering in the dark,


Do I no longer look forward

To June?


One maple has already fallen into the sea

And I, submissive,

Am left unnamed and left out.

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