Skylight
Zheng Chouyu

Every night, the stars come to my tiled roof and draw water
I lie on my back at the bottom of the well. What a deep well!

Ever since there’s the skylight
I feel as if I could tear off the ice and snow covering my body
—I am the spring in the northern land that cannot be denied
All stars are pretty, taking up by turn the week’s seven nights
And what about the little blue star of the south?
The water from the fountain spring is already swaying within the four walls
And the jingling earthen jar is not yet drooping.

Oh, all stars are pretty
But there’s only one name that sounds in my dreams
A name as free and easy as running water…