TOU WAN SPEAKS TO HER HUSBAND, LIU SHENG

I will build you a house

of limited chambers

but it shall last

forever: four rooms

hewn in the side of stone

for you, my

only conqueror.

In the south room all

you will need for the journey

—a chariot, a

dozen horses—

opposite,

a figurine household

posed in servitude

and two bronze jugs, worth more

than a family pays in taxes

for the privilege to stay

alive, a year, together…

but you’re bored.

Straight ahead then, the hall

leading to you, my

constant

emperor. Here

when the stench of your

own diminishing

drives you to air (but

you will find none), here

an incense burner

in the form of the mountain

around you, where hunters pursue

the sacred animal

and the peaks are drenched

in sun.

For those times

in your niche when darkness

oppresses, I will set you

a lamp. (And a statue

of the palace girl you most

frequently coveted.)

And for your body,

two thousand jade wafers

with gold thread puzzled

to a brilliant envelope,

a suit to keep

the shape of your death—

when you are long light and clouds

over the earth, just as the legends prophesy.