Lips Gone Dry without Kissing You
不吻你，我的嘴唇都快干了
Geese fly over water
In the dusk
Purple light washing over
Your naked back
The gulls moan
In the shadows of longing
A school of shiny fish
Travel through the darkness
A ship coming to dock
Along night’s beating heart
The moon is the witness
And the wind, the stars . . . .
I don’t know where the sweet
Water came from
I don’t remember how long
We have kissed
You sing with your mouth
Closed. I look deep into
The light in your eyes
The light in your eyes
Photography is a form of kissing. A camera picks up the lights that the naked eye is unable to detect. It’s also a kind of fishing. You catch a fish, then, you let it go back into the ocean. The fish is not your goal.
Sounds are invisible waves. Accidental shots capture the wavelength of the hurly-burly of the world that has morphed into colors. A good camera doesn’t guarantee a good kisser of the light. A truly satisfied fisherman goes home without a fish. A pleased photographer returns with a little more than the feeling of a shutterbug.
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