Walking in China Town, whispering into a hollow tree

I've always had an idea of China in my head - I see, in my mind's eye, fleets of high decked junks, anchored in exotic harbours - cranes fly over flooded fields - pagodas are outlined against a pale moon - subtle courtiers kowtow before a dowager empress - 

I hear David Bowie's China Girl - I used to listen to this, again and again, on the juke box in The White House - this small pub, hidden in dark countryside, was almost always nearly empty - there would only be five or so patrons there on a good night - the land lord, with his large pale face, would regard us all with sorrowful and knowing eyes - heart ache filled the air - 

I was taken in by the spectacle of the Cultural Revolution - I thumbed through my little red book - I subscribed to People's Daily - 

Later, I learned of the cruelty, the corruption, visited upon this immense ancient land - now I see glossy skyscrapers, expressionless apparatchiks -

I walked with Sophie down Newport Court - paper lanterns hung above our heads, like tiny planets - beautiful silk jackets were displayed on racks before brightly lit shops - crowds of round eyes went back and forth - 

I thought of In the mood for love - perhaps I would see a lonely journalist, eating noodles - perhaps, this time, he would embrace his soul mate - 

Perhaps I, too, would whisper my secrets into a hollow tree -