To the front of your house, tonight, I’m coming again.

Stop my quiet footsteps, do the locking gate and yard fence.

Flirting with the wind is the Cestrum nocturnum’s scent,

Dangling around the mist is the cigarette smoke of Salem.

Up there, you’re lying and drowsing deeply in the sweet dream,

Down here, I’m dreaming with the moon at the veranda.

Smoke swirls my imagination up to your bedroom,

So we can watch your closing eye lashes under the stars.

Calvin Hoàng