White walls. Moonlight. I wander through The alleys skein-drawn by the sound Of someone playing the erhu. A courtyard; two chairs on the ground. As if he knew I'd come tonight He gestures, only half-surprised. The old hands poise. The bow takes flight And unwished tears come to my eyes. He pauses, tunes, and plays again An hour beneath the wutong trees For self and stranger, as if all men Were brothers within the enclosing seas. Both poems from ``The Humble Administrator's Garden,'' reviewed today on another page.