Seven years to this day, you re-appeared.
I could not recognize
That tool sitting on top of the oak chess.
A wood threader. There on the morning
In a forgiving December air, I finally see you.
You held me tight in your arms,
Took me to the fish market,
Bought me little bottles of milkshake.
Your breaking skins on your hands had shaken
You held me tight in your arms, even
When you were busy making furnitures.
You poured your heart
And soul into every Zheng.
It never hit me hard enough that
Seven years ago.
Seven years to this day,
I went down the memory trail
And felt your presence.
Scraping through the memory lane,
I couldn’t find any leftover evidence.
Deus ex machina, shelled
A forbearing German.