Who’s winning
by breaking up this finger viciously
that I cup dearly in my palms
like hugging a leaf of Begonia
which is my heart
that caresses the finger
into starlight.
I walk moonlight into daylight
In loneliness, I walk
across the oceans
that separate the hearts.
We survived
harassments and wings of winter,
rallies and solitude,
separation and embrace.
We got out
from graves, we got out with bandages
on the fingers of a loving hand
which have matured
no longer cry and panic.
I come,
I come back to you,
I bury my flesh deeply inside
your wounds.

Of each finger broken
There is always a declaration
with a million tender flowers blossom.
For every bloodshed
There is always a blood stroke painting
hung up in the sky
to defy peppers
from pepper cannon spray
which can neither be wiped nor rubbed
off the skin
has now turned into a ball of fire
needing water:
Cold water, ice water, distilled water, rain, and tears…..
lots of water that flow gently and low.
I lower myself
Like water, and bath
the wounds gently
in silence.

I grow my garden
on the head smashed mercilessly.
In bloodshed and in coma,
I grow:
Night blooming cereus, plum flowers,
Chrysanthemums, orchids,
flowers of insomnia,
flowers that cares,
flowers that turned into dirt while no one cares.
These are the gift of flowers to
the broken finger which has neither sensation nor ability
to bend.
Congratulations to
the finger which is now forever
and does not

(translated from Chinese version 祝賀 2006/7/21 into English 2006/7/24, Hong Kong)

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