You will be
entering from that door
At exactly six in the evening.
But my day had started
Twelve hours earlier
My mind had been racing
On how to spend the minutes
Before you step in from that door.
Between the soap suds of laundry
And stinging aroma of onions
I find my being restless
As the weather of Yuen Long
I wish that knowing my fate
Is as simple as those maps and signs
You had taught me of using.
Should I be here? Or there?
In alien calligraphy
Written on red columns
Of temples and walls.
Believing in the warmth of your palm
During the biting midnight rains
Or your smile
Despite the steaming heat of the roof
That the door you are about to open this evening
Is also the door I should be entering
But sooner than 6 pm.
At our new flat, Hong Kong. 5 May 2008. 5:26 pm. .