The Night Brushes Lantern Flames Poem by William He

The Night Brushes Lantern Flames
By William He

The moon ascends the sleeping roofs,
Paper lanterns spill their small suns in the dark,
Threads of light tremble in the sea's slow hands.
Children run with sparks cupped in their laughs,
Their sleeves catch gold at every turn,
Fireworks move through alleys like stray beasts,
Steam lifts from sesame and sweet rice.
Faces glow warm, then fade, then glow once more,
A thousand wishes drift on bamboo ribs,
Each flame a shy heart finding voice at last.
Each shade a door with no wall and no end,
The sky leans close to hear the earth below,
Bathed in these soft, these patient lights of hope.

Dark branches stitched with threads of living fire.
The year unfolds—a red note in my chest,
Steps soft as moth wings brushing ancient stone.
Old songs rise from throats once lined with frost,
Their notes fold deep into the silk of night,
Somewhere a riddle tied to a lamp still sways,
Waiting for a hand both kind and brave.
Or for the wind to speak its name at last,
Firecrackers cast their brief and golden light,
Smoke writes thin lines across the watching stars.
And in that pale script I read one word—just one,
Home—still round, still warm, still bright,
Night holds the lantern at the edge of now.

沁园春 丙午元夕
作者：何威廉

夜色撩人，
楼角渐移，
月泻素光。
见影纱灯散，
三更电火；
红缸磁吸，
岁事勾芒。
烟树乔妆，
千姿竞起，
笑里飞花逐影忙。
凝神处，
有谜团半卷，
悬在回廊。

凤凰数字弥茫。
载千愿、
清风吹翼长。
恰高跷起舞，
星眸半吐；
水天相接，
绛气徜徉。
玄幕低垂，
枝梢镭射，
红马蹄轻过短墙。
风过处，
正烟书篆体，
家字琳琅。