Life in death mountain, you are a giant living thing. I would dig a grave in your yellow clay, rebury my sorrow there, sound a thousand strings, sound them so that they never sound again. I would take the sorrow from grasses and trees. Every blast of wind and rain theat comes though you fight the favor. In sleep the head of my bed is invariably a noisy sea.
Dreams dip into the currents, pop to the surface again.
By morning I'm a lonely is land far from the shore. The confusion of the many flower blooming, flower falling days now is heard as sobbing in the depths of dream. Love that stung the eye, love born of unending sorrow, gone, mountain bound, eternity bound. Solitary Days Days when flowers bloom for me in profusion of feeling, a snow-rain clouds my eyes as I behold the blooming flowers, days ending in thoughts of you several years now without news. Hopeless days filled with regret when the breath of life seems lifted on a gossamer wind and I bury myself in your sadness ruminating solitude in a distant land.