一棵抱古拥今的槐树高过白云寺,高过白云寺的白云。它,生长于一口铁锅内,高过人间烟火。它,听风,听雨,听暮鼓晨钟,高过一片经声。一口破裂的铁锅,在扔进弃园的刹那,发出了破碎的声响。或是一颗种子早已埋藏在那里,单等一口破锅的到来?或是一口破锅单等一颗从天而降的种子?或是一颗种子为一声叹息而来?佛说,相逢是缘。 A hugged ancient Chinese-Ash tree higher than the White Cloud Temple, Baiyun Temple over white clouds. It grows in a wok, higher than human fireworks. It, listening to the wind, listening to the rain, listening to the drumbeat, higher than a sound. A broken wok, broken into the park in the moment thrown, issued a broken sound. Or a seed that has long been buried there, waiting for the arrival of a broken pot? Or a broken pot waiting for a drop from the sky? Or a seed for a sigh come? Buddha said, meet is the edge.