No more trees 
Actually, this world is already indifferent to trees, but it’s just that according to the calendar,

Spring should see the valleys and hills filled with flowers, lush greenery and the joyous

singing voices of humanity……
         The wind can’t find a corner to rest

         This is Spring

         Dusk is about thirty degrees from the horizon

         Someone has chiselled a hole in the concrete floor

         And has used fairy tales to nurture the sapling of a tree

         And also, is feeling pleased
And the island has already lost track of a round of topics 
         Actually, according to a psychologist who was hurrying past, the remaining trees have

contracted severe schizophrenia, often mistaking themselves for broken lampposts, or

imagining that the falling of leaves was actually the disdainful expression in their eyes, being

hurled, like spit, at the barren land…… 
         No more trees

         With their lines of sight floating to the busy spaces

         Many shipwrecked glances, shedding painful tears

         Silence suddenly spreads

         Their noses will soon be unable to bear these times

         What more the birds
The earth holding her head in her hands, brooding 
         Actually, viewing earth from space, the trees are like the spines of a porcupine

defending humanity, constantly using their height to spy on the sunlight’s depth, because

the trees remember the lessons of history, and know that the sun will one day avenge its

nine brothers……
         And the birds have lost track of the topic of conversation

         Not knowing how long the chaos will last

         The sun begins to yearn for its brothers, shot dead by arrows

         All the ways of anxiety, losing one’s calm

         Leaves of dry, skinny clouds hang off the branches of the trees

         Distorting their life’s story 
The streets are blanketed with numb houseflies
         Actually, those waiting for the bus are wearing masks, and the flies are also uneasily

rubbing their noses, to dispel the unoxygenated air. 
         The earth is wrapped in thought

         Very earnestly trying to ease the constriction in breathing

         Those waiting for the bus are holding knitting needles

         Weaving the stale air needle by needle into a web

         Hanging it on tree branches

         To mourn for those trees who’ve died of lung disease 
Each perfectly straight trunk will never betray the moonlight
         Actually, even though the trees know that they’ve been deceived by civilisation, still

they wholeheartedly hold to their places, deeply afraid that if they leave, it’d set off a

revolution; humans would come and use the tree trunks to manufacture stacks of paper and

print denunciations of each other……
         The street is blanketed with numb houseflies

         Buzzing round filling each other’s ears with sickening news

         Someone took a whole pile of budget deficits and made fun of them

         During a nationwide dialogue,

         Ten of thousands of trees which had been cut down used their white innocent bodies to receive

         the humiliation of tattooing 
The posture of the trees while standing 
         Actually, I had never thought about the purpose of the trees’ unceasing growth, even

while watering them I did not know why we let them grow so tall; ever since the giant Kuafu

threw that club from his hands, entrusting the mission to the good trees, hoping that one

day they would lessen the distance between heaven and earth… 
         Each perfectly straight trunk will never betray the moonlight

         Even as they work hard to heal

         The difference in temperature between day and night

         While waiting for the bus

         Somebody glimpses a shadow

         Imagining an afternoon where the leaves are swirled by the wind 
History is, for a moment, left hanging 
         Actually, the physiology of the trees is definitely much more suited to containing

history than humans are.  They don’t really cause themselves to look like they’re not trees,

nor do they deign to allow ornaments that don’t belong to them to be added to their

bodies. And they have even hanged themselves in anger, because humanity doesn’t allow

them the freedom of standing upright and looking to the distance. 
         The posture of the trees while standing

         really puzzles the historian wearing thick black-rimmed glasses

         About how to use the most precise scientific calculations

         To complete each person’s powers of appreciation and imagination

         When a tree’s shadow is as long as its actual height

         is the sun at the 3.30 position? 
As long as one tree lives on 
Actually, as long as one tree lives on it is more than enough, because he will not commit

massacres, and is content to be alone. He will get along well with the wind, and humanity

will better understand dignity. 
         History is, for a moment, left hanging

         Waiting for the seed to sprout

         and successfully usher in a new era