Through a mountain where small shrubs abound
flows a river.
Along its banks, branches of trees
running with sap lean over
and touch the water’s surface.
The fruit, tasting richly of ginger,
break open their fine skins
and put forth their seeds.
Water spills from the hollows
in the rocks, and cascades from the edge of cliffs.
A tiger, replete from its kill,
wets its blood-smeared mouth
at the swift water-streams.
As it climbs down, scarlet ash scatters
from a volcano’s gaping mouth.
A vortex, whirling clockwise,
agitates the earth. The day’s heat
dissolves into the night’s coolness.
In the end, Nature becomes
my body, lying still.