Change the tenderness of the past , The sun is a little heavy
The wind is the same
Climb on the treetop , Solidify the air
The past precipitated , Then freeze frame
The mountain fog turned into smoke
The pond in the eye socket , No longer full of clear water
The water has been sucked dry by the lips of years
touch
With a pair of old hands
Just gently evoke
Some signs of life
For fear of missing some tiny details
The color of the lips is as pale as white clouds
No lip prints
Your forehead clings to the tombstone
A few drops of blood
Quietly , Dye the name red
Postscript : The old man visited his son lying on the border in this way , More than 40 years of missing , Touching .