在風的季節，往事不是往事。

浮陶沒有翅膀，只能懸浮於空中靈修，

它試圖抵擋風的誘惑，

既不上升，亦不願下沉。

上有落石，下有星塵，浮陶一觸便碎。

彼此靜默地旋轉，凝視， 各有所思，陶浮於事。

​

In the seasons of summer breeze, the past is never dead indeed. Floating potteries have no wing. Neither do they rise nor sink.

In the air, suspended for meditation, trying to resist the wind temptation. Dying comets, in the sky of stardust. They could be shattered with a touch.

Rotating tranquilly,
as though stationary,
Gazing at each other like in deep thought, Trying to pull out but relentlessly socked.