the late sun closes his hot eyes.  but he can't escape
these mountains...beyond this hermitage
the landscape opens, rain falls on the cornfields,
light spills across the plains.

last night, i dreamed of a man with white hair
kissing my neck.  in the silence at midnight, i had crossed
three decades of shadows to a garden of sunlit flowers
illumined by a sacred fire;

twilight spread shadows on the balcony
and flying bats were clothed with gold.
they fluttered beyond the gate with its peeling paint
silent as their own fates

i was picking flowers.  i paused for a long while
watching their leisurely flight