The black crow lets out a deep cry,
Buffs its feathers, stretches Its wings,
And fly over the lakes into the clear
Vast blue sky. I walk along this immense
Landscape, in a passing moment, tracing
The remains of the earth’s geological forces.
I sit at the foot of a mountain.
Where brown long grass and reeds,
Stand above the Northern hemlock,
Veitch’s sliver-fir and Red-cedar trees.
Here I dwell upon nothing,
I contemplate nothing, I think nothing.
I wished that I could stay here forever,
Grow my feet into giant ancient roots,
And for the birds to take my despair, my joy
I am incapable of bearing with them,
Like the fleeting wind, but they know what I am.
laying amongst flowers scattered on the hillside.
Anaphora version #2
This black crow buffs its feathers,
Stretches it’s wings and lets out a deep cry,
Can’t you hear it,
Oh can’t you hear it, it flies away.
Can’t It take it with? Like the fleeting wind,
Can’t It take it with me? My suffering no longer mine,
My sorrow no longer mine,
Like the fleeting wind.
I guess it’s been a long time,
And I am wondering if you still remember me at all;
Because the pain you gave me,
It never left me.
I take it with me; I take it with me.
Each day transfigured, each day renewed,
Each day reborn.
And the sky is pouring in the courageous storm.