I possess my body like the mirror of a lake.
My brain like a perfect apricot season
I open my eyes to the crows and think
of nothing.
A nothing
so pure and clean I wash my face with it,
and then my hands,
and then my whole body until
I am crisp and sharp and pink
as the salt lake
which swallowed a man whole
and did not give up even the bones.
—  Yiwei Chai, Fragments III