Yin Xiaoyuan

“Optics is the philosophy of extracting daylight from night.” In the eternal gloominess
after the withering of a candle, at last he lifted his hands
so dusty with silver grey. People flocked to the pile of ore
he had dug out. “We make a lock out of it,

so daylight will evaporate no more!” Wolfram remained imperturbable
in a Petri dish, shimmering like an unfolding lotus
rising from sacred relics. He looked outside: the earth had been divided into two
by light and shadow. The Old World
in gauzy pink dusk, while oceans in the New World were surging over
a crescent horizon. Once inside the lock cylinder

restless sounds converted into tranquility, spheres of tungsten wires sank and floated up
in branches of the river of night, purged itself of dross
and shone. “Sleep now! The flames on the eastern ranges
will quench it with more heat and light!” They fell asleep with prayers or totems, none of whom rose early the next day

to witness this reunion. Wolfram, a blind saint, wrapped in rays of light
without knowing it, walked past the cliffs, bumped into the sun
but walked again through it, like what he did
back in savage times, he hesitated a moment
wondering what it was, that he was brushing elbows with

On the beach, you asked the man in grayish windbreaker:
‘How do you define ‘The Will’?’
He drew a sine-wave with his finger in the sand, then wiped it away
With waves at his command. A capful of vinegar, and seething calories of vegetables
In your stomach, turning and burning, gave you the illusion
Of snakes slithering away somewhere behind. Last night on your way home,

There was a repeat of the scene, in which she refused to allow you
To touch her rain-drenched violin. ‘Keep your distance, am I clear?
Only one of the strings is the zero line, you just can’t tell which!’ She smiled weirdly
And ran upstairs. The string which snapped during the performance
Dragged along behind her, was as thick as a towrope. Confused, standing still there,

You tossed a coin into the air, and heard it
Droning fast, with strong and weak beats, alternating,
A downpour and a flood – overflowing in different directions.
Fourteen days are needed to dry your nets, and clear
All water-level data. Landforms, temperature, light from above

And your masculinity, will be turned inside out like a coat
On the other side of the globe