Buddhas issue from my mouth, immortals emerge from my waist.
A red sun large as a coin on my brow, in my mind palace, sutra chants clear and cold.
Gautama and Huang-Lao left me long ago, could it be their teachings vanish from the world?
Heaven too seems to envy me, I know its face from within my dreams.
Within the sphere of pure light, my original countenance ever appears.
Clearly real, not mere thought, like moon in water, image in mirror.
Since we parted, seeing you is rare; once met by chance, we share delight.
Seeing cannot be contrived, gaining cannot be forced.
When kindred spirits meet, a snap of fingers; fate's well shelters from cold, nurture and conserve.
Lotus and water lily, petals turned upside down, wind and dew of the ninth heaven flow through liver and spleen.
Looking down on mortal world, I cannot bear to leave, though the world abandons me, surely I'm not mad.
Sometimes in gloom I need to drink deep, on Chang'an's streets we chase each other.
Left arm holding Master Tian, right hand patting Fan Yuqi.
The dog butcher ahead, Wu Yang behind, striking the zhu, shouting to rouse Gao Jianli.
Yang Xiong could recognize strange characters, but did not know that guiding with the Dao fits all.
First dance makes ghosts and gods weep, second makes thunder and lightning fly.
Third dance purifies heaven and earth, then all things glow with radiant light.
I'm too weak to be like Yi Chuan, plowing fields, tilling earthworms.
Nor can I be Lü Wang, dangling a line by Panxi stream.
I only wish the Han ancestral shrine stands firm, why must we grasp the reins of transformation?
I only wish between the Purple Palace south and Supreme Palace north, seven stars can mold and refine.
Have you not seen Zhang Three in blue robe, Li Four in purple gown, gold grows more, office climbs higher.
Confucius and Robber Zhi, who can tell them apart? Great serpents and giant boars vie for supremacy.
I wish to tell Heaven, will it consent? Onlookers secretly laugh, women shake their heads.
Better to open eyes before the bright moon, lest I lose the clear breeze after.
Du Zimei, Li Taibai, clear breeze their soul, the moon their spirit.
To this day they wander between heaven and earth, how many times alone have they slapped the rail?