The night is full of frogs and brakes
and planes en route to London;
But morning's sounds, when I awake,
will not tell where they come from.
The night is made from motorbikes
and large aircraft descending;
the dry leaves glide in gutters dry
to their own happy ending.
The night left me in ruffled nest
with one tear on my shoulder;
the daylight hours will serve as rest:
at sundown, I grow older.
photograph by Li Hui
