she sinks slowly
into bath water
soap caressing
her arms her legs
her breasts
pat dry before
the creams the lotions
her hands gliding over
her skin like silk
white body against
blue satin
as she lies
to sleep
a sleep
of no regrets
nighttime
Spring Night by Su Tung-p’o
Spring night–one hour worth a thousand gold coins;
clear scent of flowers, shadowy moon.
Songs and flutes upstairs–threads of sound;
in the garden, a swing, where night is deep and still.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 