Tiles are smashed, stems are broken
Droplets grow out salt flowers
Coachman of memory is out of breath
hastily reloading
If there were no past Eden
how could religions be possible
Changing scene is pegged
Rusty nail is moaning and spinning
too late to pull out from the past story
In firelight of ritual
it doesn’t matter who is the protagonist
The thing you care about is outside the firelight
Taking two steps away, you see a tree
Going farther, you see a river
A small fish flopping in your heart
You look for a way out inside the belly of a big fish
Sitting in a Buddhist’s chant
playing the guitar and singing a new song:
No matter wherever the fate takes me
I will go, and I will obey
The wind is blowing, the birds flying
Birds cannot become the wind
The wind can levitate into birds
Incarnation
In the tomb-like room
You stretch your arms to open the window
wanting to imitate a bird
and turn into a gust of wind
and incarnate in Tao