When the time comes for fog viewing in April,
I call on Dr Wu to see if he will visit an old temple with me.
It's a steep walk up the pine-deep mountain to his house.

In his open door I find him smiling.
He welcomes me with cold rice wine, but will not care to come out.
I start home across the wooden bridge.

When I look back I see him through his amber windows
Where he sits beside his young wife.
In the fog I can just make out her laughter,
Soft as silver chimes.