SEALS

King of Chu’s tomb at Lion Mountain

Here, I’ve shrunk you down to join me:

cooks, royal guards, chambermaids,

each small as a seal stone.

I imagine yours, my lady,

as if your fingerprint were my amulet,

your murmurs my jade pillow,

your breath my own jade suit.

Sleep and darkness hold me close.

For you, I took Qin bricks, Han tiles

to build a citadel of clay:

clay hens, clay ducks,

clay pigs, clay dogs.

I summoned lithe dancers

swaying from the waist

to wreathe our affections.

As spring rain dripped from eaves,

bowls and winecups sang

a feast unending.

Century on century, life after life,

under scorching suns, chill moons,

thunder and mournful winds,

I think of you.

All my last years, troops and horses,

I found your gaze amid cities’ ruins.

Break the wine jar’s seal, your kiss

the stamp that seals my lips.

No kingdom’s larger

than this tiny chop.

Not the fiery skies of sunset

nor the archives of the dynasties

can erase its scarlet dot.