Moon-Drunk Poets* "Cuando sale la luna," says a poet, "se pierden las campanas." When the moon rises, the sound of bells goes unheard. "花 (huā) 间 (jiān) 一 (yī) 壶 (hú) 酒 (jiǔ)," says another, "独 (dú) 酌 (zhuó) 无 (wú) 相 (xiāng) 亲 (qīn)." A bottle of wine among the flowers; I drink alone, no one is nearby. Still another: "Le porte est ouverte; le grillon chante." The door is open, the cricket sings. For the first poet, the silver coin in his pocket sobs— "solloza en el bolsillo"— when the moon appears. Compared to the moon the coin feels its nothingness. The second poet invites the bright moon— "明 (míng) 月 (yuè)"— to join him and his shadow in celebration and pledges eternal friendship of the three— "永 (yǒng) 结 (jié) 无 (wú) 情 (qíng) 游 (yóu)." The third poet asks if you are walking around naked in your house—"nu dans le maisson." The full moon can bring out bizarre behavior in people. Moon, water, wine, a door. Chilled green fruits, 影 (yǐng) 零 (líng), La fourmi travaille. And tonight—yes, tonight!—the moon is dumping rippling buckets of gold coins upon the ocean; setting in motion the crashing on the shore, white wave, foam face, tumbling roar; making shadows, soft silhouettes, of naked bodies making friendships forevermore.
	—Louis Martin
	*Federicao Garcia Lorca, Li Bai, Juan Ramon Jiménez. References are to La Luna Asoma (Lorca), 月 (yuè) 下 (xià) 独 (dú) 酌 (zhuó) or Drinking Along Under the Moon (Li Bai), and Luna Grande (Jiménez).