Nanluogu Hutong

The alleyway's monotonous grey tone
Has been touched by colorful hues of a small scale flea market.
Here is a puppy vendor, selling mummy dolls.
There is a loopy singer, yelling whammy lyrics.
While two guitar players fondles
The melody of California Hotel,
The fleeting sound dwindles
My desire to stay in Nanluogu Hostel.
In a gloomy autumn afternoon,
My lingering mood measures the frame of the past,
Stretching from a full moon
To the humid east,
As if the pleasant air was crystallized
In a series loving messages,
Page by page, and being digitalized
By sliding doors in various memorial passages.
Centered on it is your whirling new red skirt,
Which bears the searching eyes of pedestrians.
The primitive pattern on your shirt
Creates a dazzling labyrinths,
But you may not know, mon amour,
It is your hair that is the field of my imagination.
One glimpse is enough to see a tiny white butterfly
Gliding though the yellowish bush.
This irregular geometry of psyche is to reply
A long-forgotten letter written in anguish,
Posted to the direction of no-where
Several years ago, with a similar wish
I would have dreamt of here.