Casting aside all those prearranged formulas,
I leave one afternoon behind.
With a heartfelt cry,
I coax new shoots from variables,
and, carrying the weight of years upon my back,
walk along the riverbank.
Becoming one with the spirit of poetry,
I find the secret door opening.
As waves of ecstatic tremors
gently soothe the fragrance of contemplation,
the excited breaths within the blank spaces
pour forth a lingering resonance.
Crossing the vastness of silence,
I revise and revise again.
Then the warmth of sunlight
softly unfastens the bolts,
and the well-ripened verses of solitude
spread their golden wings.
