Night on the Great River ［three translations］

　　by Anthony Piccione

　　 Now the child is a runny-nosed stranger

　　 you've finally decided to share your seat with，

　　 and the whole thing keeps heaving into the dark.

　　 The child sleeps unsweetly hunched against you，

　　 your side is slowly stinging， he has wet himself，

　　 so you do not move at all. I know you.

　　 You sit awake， baffling about a quirky faith，

　　 and do not shift until morning. This is why

　　 you are blessed， I think， and usually chosen

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