A pair of crumpled muddy jeans
lies on the street unusually after a rain
looking like a weather-beaten face
no one knows it is the remain
of violence or harm or just plain abandoned

A host of people with weary faces waiting for the bus
swarm at the station on time everyday
Whenever a bus comes
the crowd is stirred, as if
a flock of raptors dashing toward sacrificial meats

This morning, unusually,
my impaired vision sees that
the darkest part of fate keeps pace with
a sacrificial meat running into its doom

       Trans. by Tim Lilburn and Xuan Yuan and the author