Watch little by little the night turn around.
Echoes in the house; want to go up, dare not.
A glow behind the screen; wish to go through, cannot.
It would hurt too much, to see the swallow on her hairpin.
Truly shame me, to see the Phoenix in her mirror.
To Hengtang I return at dawn
Fading like light on a jewelled saddle.
We learn that these verses were underlined. The marks left behind by a reader are a reminder of their thoughts, their feelings; we read into these marks a lingering over words; we can feel the weight of that mind over these words like the imprint of handwriting we leave on paper even after the page we wrote the actual words on have been removed. Holding a book full of these signs and traces is to read a secret history, to note the contours of a mind.