The best sunlight has already been here
The bus at six p.m. is packed with travelers, passing
Through a mist-like dusk, expressionless travelers
Hug someone else's luggage as the bell tolls, in the chime
Vibrating slightly, the engine keeps on running
Golden desires embellish life's sawtooth
Turn into sewage, flush out wind instruments no longer played

The best instruments have also been ransacked by the elements
Leaving behind music, through a forked path in the narrative
Leaving behind musicians—in a town that doesn't exist
Perhaps are musicians like me, waiting for the wild grasses to sway on their own
Leaning over to point out the wind's path, an old song
Breaks through days' interdiction, the speed limit of logic
Past days change and regain their shapes around me, becoming light
And mist, in the empty letter the world leaves me
A conundrum: "How to describe the worst story
In a better foreign tongue?" I quietly roll my tongue
Trying to pronounce: the faraway talent of those constellations, the crooked writing
In the par avion letters... Black tattoos reveal in the mist-like
Dusk—lightning of a sunny day, rainstorm of youth
Someone walks past with an umbrella, touching my herb-like secret

Touching without participating. Leaving warmth in the damp shadows
Instead of footprints, leaving plants to lower and cover without fragrance
Leaving words to guard the plots to let the light bypass me
And reach darkness, leaving contours instead of shapes
Guarding memories like leaving behind a rhyming slang
Guarding my food, my identity and fear
Through a mist-like dusk I wonder
Whether there will be a river to fasten my new shoes whether there will be
A road, to keep recording worn-out riddles for old shoes
The unknown distance always hides under the scenery
Sends out oracle, or music
Omnipotent yet ignorant, to wipe the coins everyone throws out

Imperfect wheels keep on turning, on the way
I still believe that the mist is about to dissipate even though
It never does, from different directions the dusk slowly
Passes through me, abandons me, leaving a deeper dark night
To sink ahead slowly like the shadow of a person
Through a mist-like dusk to get on the bus at six p.m.
Guilt-ridden, not knowing where to go