At the end of history and desert
Forever running and ringing eastward is a song
Therefore, my ancestors come in crowds
Or leave on all fours, and I
Am staring at the downfall and resurrection of time
— Preface
The war over. A broken dream
Along the season overwintering in the Arctic Ocean
Head lifted up in expectation of the waning moon
And blood dissolving into the depth of soul
Lying beneath the iron heel to splash a water road
Passing quickly, while I
Stand beside Mother, gazing at
The sorrowful face of the earth
— A crescent moon shines upon
The shadowy sacrificial day beneath the stone, and I
Disremember to dedicate an elegy to you— Mother what I should remember
Has been poured into the flower pattern of the blue sky
Time has shaken off the words which are shy like girls
Your graveness and sternness has rendered me silent and mute
Perhaps memory can bring a lengthy life of one hundred years
But I am not likely to be infatuated with the dewdrops on autumn leaves
Although stars may own such a day
Fermented days gradually shine
When we have covered a section of road
A black eagle wheels past
Perhaps time is a wrong symbol
365 days
Produce 365 tales of incarnation of souls
It is a memorial day once forgotten by people
It is the flower once rooted in desert
Which will be in the secret prison
To interpret an undefeated dream
A spell of wind has awakened
The howling of a black wolf in the vale therefrom
We have lost the naivety and romance of a poet
Extravagant days along the flood and ebb of the sea
Are comforted in the autumn waves of mountains
I go upward with time and extend with the road
Witnessing the river which has been silent for hundreds of years
I settle down and am still uninhibited
In a voice I often
Describe the image of a hand-stander
And to meet the free bourn by chance
Birth and death become the lie of philosophy
To lend color to the wild grass covering the bones
Of the dead, but
The blood dripping skull feels the great heaviness
And a flat road is blazed on the forehead of mountain
The largesse which makes time to deliver death in advance
Is showy at the end of the road in that wink
Overlapping stones rise tree roots spread out
To and fro between places of birth and death I remain motionless
The last wilderness
Far ahead of my behind-the-curtain
In a moment when the world awakes
To project a corner of deep layer of bright light
Adequate for generations to taste the filtered evening
Is eventually the myth concocted by the night
To extend a hand to give it over to the other hand
To exchange a kind of hostage
Such nights are blind to the sight
How to have the heart to carve on the back of the stone
The time of downfall sequence is still remembered
To have mutilated annual rings of the stone
At that time a philosopher passes here
And comes across a corpse exposed physically and mentally
Under the bottom of the sun to give off sparse light
To shine upon a piece of pure land
For no reason I am involved
To start off together with the wind
For no reason I am involved
To submit the soul and body of deity under weather exposure
