When Indulging Deeply in the Island that is Putuoshuan

 

The lure of camphor trees cannot sustain you

Trilling of crickets, though deafening, will not necessarily follow you into dreams

Do not expect the Goddess of Mercy to guide you
along the obscure corridors
of your own treachery (especially if you’re American)

Prevalence of frogs on windowsills should grant
a novel experience of waking, not threaten one’s serenity,
one’s private hour with breakfast cookies, scalding tea

 

Refrain from recalling a world beyond visions
of dehydrated fish, the scowls of oncoming monks, cars
that run you and your loved ones off the road

The steps of Fayu temple need not be ascended on one’s knees

After making love to your lovely wife
gently dab with complimentary wash cloth
the sweat beads forming between her breasts

Midnight is not the appointed hour
for urinating with drunken abandon
in one of our many cobblestone streets

 

Five unwed women are required to wave goodbye

There’s not a single soul on this island who understands
your word for regret