cold mountain (23)

An arrow loosed doesn’t return; a word spoken can’t be unsaid. The doors to death are opening while the gates of life are closing. Thirty years, and I’m only just beginning to see. Night falls, the day rises; growing close, we’re already moving apart. I put my hand out to stop the whirling, only to realize I couldn’t grasp the ground.

English translation p. 51 here.

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