P’i-pa in Midnight Alley
Hsü Chih-mo

Startled again from dreams by this p’i-pa in depth of night!
Whose is the sorrowing
Whose the fingers
That like a chill breeze, a dismal rain, an eddy of falling petals
Through the stillness of night
Through the shades of slumber
Quiver the taut strings, plucking at random note after note
To blend into still night, empty street,
Willow hung with waning moon
—Ah, dying moon’s half-circle, image of fading hope—while he
Of the cap bursting its seams
Of the body iron-chained
Leaps and laughs like a maniac along the path of time.
“It’s over,” he says, “blow out your lamp.”
She waits beyond the grave
Waits for your kiss, waits for your kiss, waits for your kiss.