as i walk along the golden hillsides
their dried up grasses swaying in the summer wind
i notice the moon peaking through the branches
below is a shimmering clear water stream
i am the only witness to plum blossoms
as they caress the waters skin
chirp of crickets gently drifts like razor blades through the air
a group of deer out for an evening feast
they look at me as if to say
"who are you, you empty beast"?
i respond by saying
"i am he who dances friendless in the blowing air"
leaving not a trace
i was never there