Under the closed gate of the blue palace
one unfamiliar memory lives
Glass window, wet moonlight
that breath calls an unfamiliar name
At the end of every road, one small house
sitting alone in a room with no door
The cold machine counts his breaths
and his two eyes look somewhere far
As if he had waited for me, whom he'd never seen
he says he read one page of a poem
A midsummer he never lived
he suffers every night like a dream
Unfamiliar house, familiar window
a warmth clearer than the wind
Speak of someone you have never met
and even a name that never was stays in your chest
I miss a night that never was
toward a house I have never been to
I don't even know the way back
and still my feet keep going
Following a face I don't know
waking days I never lived
with a longing that is not a lie
I call out a name
Blue teacup, dry fingertips
one word at the edge of trembling lips
That day's poem did not burn in the fire
once read, the letters disappear
One thing remains, only a blue knot
a small half-moon pressed on paper
It pointed toward the western waterway
it said a season that never was lives there
Certified life, edited history
measured feelings, licensed dreams
That machine that measures the waveform of memory
calls the summer inside me an error
But I know the scent
rain-soaked earth, a warm wooden floor
Even that person who never existed
vanishes twice the moment I forget
Dry eyes, trembling breath
the blue light of a darkened room
He presses the knot into my hand
and a road I have never walked appears
I miss a night that never was
toward a house I have never been to
I don't even know the way back
and still my feet keep going
Following a face I don't know
waking days I never lived
with a longing that is not a lie
I call out a name
Records cannot tell you
the warmth another's memory leaves behind
Even a longing never lived
lives for real inside one person
Now I think I understand a little
why he cannot forget
Memory is not only facts
longing becomes a life too
I hold the knot
following a road I have never walked
crossing the blue waterway
calling seasons that never were
Following a face I don't know
holding an unfamiliar longing
a heart the code could not measure
I walk inside a memory that never was
Blue dawn, a wet knot
his memory becomes light
In the window of a house I have never been to
a midsummer that never was spreads again