My eyes are thawing the mist, gradually
for I was the sight of the winter moon
Leaping into the lofty landscapes,
floating in the afternoon muse.
I began to rustle the wind, a little more
as my eyes can’t stop their peering
as if a dimension has adorned the panes
Separate from the world of moist eyes.
I gather my soul
and poured it into the woods
as they transplant me up the monsoon hills
Churning me inside the lacy grass,
gazing up at the migrant birds.
By the rivulet with amber like eyes
Mourns a sea breeze, slow
And all is now what is left of me,
lingers at the window.
My visions emboss my thoughts
as they nurture on the panes
wavering like distant shadows
of a nymph of the southern rivulet.