Quiet evening
moist damp skin
softened by pale lamp posts
sparsely lighting the grounds
of campus night in Beijing

Crickets and cicadas with crispy shells
fill the space with crispy sounds
and the occasional wheels turning
voices of tired cooks and waitresses
students and school ground guards

I feel adapted and changed
Covered with a gentle silt
never wash away

So far does my Guojia feel
I cannot visualize my old self
Brought here to merge with a life
before unknown
I want to hold it
breathe in the parts
shun impossibility and give base
to my existence