It was late afternoon when the gale
of Feng Bo shivered through the skewed alleyways of Sichuan,
into the parks and
scraping against the ridged
edges of pavilions flecked within. We dance,
silhouettes in the same breezes, our bodies
cursive under the same pavilion and as the winds
accumulated into swells of flurry,
our silk sleeves:
the swirling red flares in the tempest.
let us move like the swaying willows,
our bodies occasionally arching
into the concavity of a sprouting orchid.
Because in the dancing of water sleeves,
it is the wind that voices the undulating spell.
Which is to say: under each of nature’s sorceries,
choreography is simply
a swaying willow.
Choreography of Water Sleeves
BY yixuan (Stone) wu