Where is that little path
that’s frivolously swinging
in the mountain in the dawn?
I can’t find it anymore.
Where are the bird songs
invocating memories
of time with no sins?
I can hear them no more.
Where the sun go?
From out the shadows
is the only light
that’s radiating.
From under a blanket of a cloud
that is my time now
that is my time now
I neither sleep
nor I am awake.
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