At night
I carry ancient roots
to the field
Green frog legs, green sockets of the moon 
and a green bullet shell
all bloom 
on my back

In the morning 
I return to the village 
knock at the door 
A bee looking for water 
lands on my neck 
thinks I might be 
a well above the ground 
Mother opens the door 
and sees through the well 
a roll of moist trees 
all kneel down 
bow to the plain and to her:
Mother – they cry – 
Mother

Translated by Ye Chun