cold mountain (26)

Heaven and earth can crumble and change.

I would weigh my body down with the bell’s low song in the dark, let it take my flesh and bones with it, sending them off together plunging into the evening ocean.

My breath I would sew to the afternoon sun through papered panes, that it may be long, even, and distinct, warm and clear.

My words I would give to summer light as it etches the world, so that brilliance and precision might become one with beauty, expression without excess.

I would marry my thoughts to spiders, that they can learn the art of building to a purpose.

These impulses, quickening and birthing moment by moment, I would send to the stars, to erupt and extinguish, flare and arc in all ranges of the spectrum.

And the last white blanket, the repository of all that has gathered and dispersed these countless lives, I would place in your hands, all whom I have loved. Shake out the knit-work of my mind, cast me open like a net, weave your fingers into my knots and then undo me, that as we caught each other in life, we liberate each other ever after.


I have (thankfully) picked up some translation work. Calligraphy efforts will have to be put on hold until March 21st, but as always, the original Chinese and English translation can be found here, pp. 52-53.


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