Remembering Golden Bough

Young summer night
I always wait on pillow for a rainstorm

Wandering mountain paths lead to forest
Lightning presents mysterious palm prints
Fairies dance in thunder
Our bare arms spread with raindrops
There come the footsteps of Diana
White robe, golden bough, totem

At night, a pen on a classroom desk
Like a flying horse, in the sand of time
steps out ring of paradox of life
The illusions of Apollo and Dionysus
across table are talking about
the spring ploughing in vision
Wheat seed sprouts into human form, plough
overthrows soil, seeking
the meaning of addition or subtraction

Bonfire in the wild is flourishing
Goat, hare, wolf howl
Sacrifice chorus, drumming, feet bracelets ringing
Night splashes ink on the paper of memory
Priests in those years, chant incantations and paint symbols
Abundant new crops brew wine
The deity body in heaven is torn into pieces
Bread is drunk, body blood is flushing

In the full stop of the moon, the shadow of rite of passage
is emerging
female breasts, and male broad shoulders