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Yuan Changming
Swirling
Among the seven colors
Of the paint, the painting
Gives rise to a swirl
Turning fast enough
To send you up to a little cloud
Like an eagle gliding through
The serenity of autumn sky
Neither the eagle nor you cast
Any shadow down as the earth
Keeps rotating as leisurely
As any other day beyond the black hole
When you return and stand on a
Hilltop, the painting is still
Unfolding itself, but the eagle has
Vanished high up into another sky
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