Poem Without a Category
by Liu Cheng

Office work: a wearisome jumble;
Ink drafts: a crosshatch of deletions and smears.
Racing the writing brush, no time to eat,
Sun slanting down but never a break;
Swamped and muddled in records and reports,
Head spinning till it’s senseless and numb –
I leave off and go west of the wall,
Climb the height and let my eyes roam:
Square embankments hold back the clear water,
Wild ducks and geese at rest in the middle –
Where can I get a pair of whirring wings
So I can join you to bob on the waves?

Submitted by Ruth Baxendale

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