of all things not yet governed,
all things escaping notice or
never to have been, sweetest
valley of all, valley of oblivion.
Hilltops are crowned
with ruddy light, mist
binds the magnificence.
Streams descend from
rock gardens, many guardian
reptiles are in attendance.
On the banks of this great
transformation, I am not transformed.
I am found on rooftops at odd
hours, I am wandering with the damned.
I am still watching the natural things
bloom in their decaying way,
yearning for nothing to happen
again and again.
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