Flowing time stops;
The 1,000 year sun shines.

A wind that is about to pass
contains the shadow of a mountain.
You are a mirror.

You are deeper than an eagle’s eyes.
My heart is shaken even by
the weak tomb bird’s breath.
O my heart, dyed in red!

My will becomes a
green mountain that embraces
the mystery of beginning,
which is buried on this
warm Autumn afternoon.

A blue cloud is strolling
alone, climbing the mountain.