From THE MEMORY OF AUGUST by Zhao Dandan

White crystal moon of flowers
You're giving me powers
To imagine your stainless steel
Crescent swings in the sky
 loved by all the other moons
While you emanates from the dark
Powers of space.  Far away
I can see you shining like

A field of clear white clover and your

shining cradle holds what should be
Heaven for most of us--a field
of flowers like a bedspread,
a sense of the cosmos
Tied together with thin polyester.

When I first saw this crescent from another

space, cradled in the sureness of lunar gesture

and unlike our stark white moon in orbit

I was alone.  Not even the museum guard

could touch me as I circled the satellite

like the saucer from a lost in space episode—

it was this glittering polyester

landscape that I flew over unlike a moth

but knowing full well that other moons

in other places exist, some more beautiful

and compelling than others, some harsh

boiling pits like Europa, some frozen

disks, unlike our present subject—

queen of its solar system, a tricky turn in the sky.