Spring Prayer of the Lone Tree
As though my palms alone could pray,
Praying for songs to rise from the depths of gorges,
As if I ponder for these songs,
Contemplating the tune,
simmered all winter,
Traversing the fields,
cleansed into symbols sacred,
Dyed and woven into divine forms, Becoming algae that flows into the mortal world,
Seeking a cradle of warmth to clingFinally stretching into the grass on the ridges,
I pray ceaselessly,
Until the evening sun encircles in a golden flood,
I fix my gaze on the budding tips of my fingers,
Immaculate yet so faint,
Swaddled in the rings of years and withered wrinkles,
I sigh,
Oh youth, the most beautiful lament of humanity.