Year of the Soul

A new poem by Tao Lin.

Mom said Nini was my mom in a past life
and I got confused—listen to music afk with eyes
closed—most glass blocks UV light—the older
I get, the more I like clouds. Flashes of light
when startled by sound. My brother makes
a mysterious “tze” sound. We can’t read
literature from the Golden and Silver Ages
because languages morph like clouds and water
placed in moonlight becomes Moon water. My cats
look East Asian—a blue outer space—without time,
nothing moves. The avocado trees looked like eyes
in 2019, slowly crying happy tears of green fruit—
I’m covered in everything—a large enough number
becomes a cloud. Metaphor of broken screen
not being transmittable via screenshot. Watery
eyes don’t close—they’re covered—studies show
people experience aesthetic chills—peak emotional
moments often associated with perceived sadness.

This poem is part of Strange Visions, our ongoing series on defamiliarization.

Also, come to our 2026 Zoë Conference in Napa to see Tao Lin and many others…