THIS IS THE GHOST
In fact, transforms. One day it's a tree, the next
day another form. Ephemeral matter gone.
All these human hands, they can't make
anything ever. They shake their minds
at treasures and wind up losing it all.
Like a frog on the edge of the muddy
bank, making noises, looking out,
but good for nothing else at all.
Have you ever seen women drinking?
They get tipsy in such a different way
than men do. A dance begins, their fine
heart soars, they can' sit still. Evasive,
they get up just to move around. The
men go blind, all because of that.
Now the little rain is touching leaves.