Modern Poetry of Twelve Constellations (10)

I seem to have promised you

want to be with you

Walk up that beautiful mountain road

You said the hillside was full of new tea.

There are also good acacia trees.

I seem to have promised you

On a distant spring afternoon

Tonight under the lamp

Comb my first white hair

I suddenly remembered something I couldn't remember.

Keep your promise.

Unexplained sadness

On that mountain road

Are you a teenager?

Still waiting for me?

Still looking around eagerly