By Jolin Tang
Dunhuang The sky is still warm beyond emerald land plump women dance and roam
in a light gauze of orchid and sand Flying apsaras
are you waiting for an alteration?
Pipa and servants
carve a permanent song of the nation
Between the void and depart
a history gradates into art
tonight you are not a legend you are a wall, light, and air in a send Three Stars and A Moon Three stars and a moon in Luocheng city sear a gold foil mask to the Chinese
Eyes faces and bronze bodies fly with birds in the sun and mists across an unprecedented age
Your silent heart in the southwestern plain inquires, wisdom flocks to the far-off sacrificial pits
Can you hear people calling you, Sanxingdui, Sanxingdui, as a name in the tentative list?
Moon not for missing, stars not for hope, merely a night of emptiness as a whole
You are an indulging tree, enlarging something indescribable in the human world
You are a figure holding a version of time, though it slips away from your fingers
Little is known about why you kneeled down with a twisted head and one straight blade
As long as the Yellow River declines and rejuvenates, we close your eyes and think *This poem is shaped according to this bronze-gold mask in Sanxingdui
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