The South Side of the Sky
The mountain climbs, fifty li into darkness.
Beyond it the cold stars burn. Here, on the south side of the sky, The rain never falls.
All that we are, we carry with us In sealed packs, safe from the air.
Thin the air, thin the hope
Of seeing home again,
Except from afar.
Red sand fills our shoes.
We stop at an inn and drink our fill, Yet are never content.
We are lost,
Adrift upon a sea of dust.
Some thirsts can never be satisfied.
· kan jiang, “Thirst,” a.d. 2078
CHAPTER ONE