The night is approaching its integrity,
I am drifting in the languages,
The perished musical instruments
Packed with ice.
Who is it at the crack of the day
Singing, water has become bitter,
Flame has lost its blood,
The mountain cat has sped to the stars.
There must be a formula,
When one dreams making can.
In the chilliness of a morning,
One awakened bird
Has come closer to the truth.
Whilst my poems and I
Are sinking down together.
In the book's February:
A certain motions and images.
(translated from poem 二月by Bei Dao)