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Yuan Changming



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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