A favourite place to walk: near my apartment, Xinxiang , China.

From the future,
a wind will arrive.
A storm unfolds
and words will play about
the edges of the clouds.
And the disaffected
will dance on tied-up
haiku, and rhymes
and meters in need of mending.

After the thoughts it raised,
all will appear as if seen before.
But the poets will know
how we all danced to measure.
And wrote of such dark goings,
all of which were words, words, words.