Changping Xiāngcūn

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On a long, solo, morning ride

Glides by a tired, dusty countryside

Slouched in languid angles of repose.

Over sagging homes and crumbling walls

Float magpie feet and strident magpie calls

From top to top of poplar trees.

And in the fields and orchards work goes on

Beginning, as it likely always has, at dawn

On stomachs of bread and soy.

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