I leap from depths.
And thought I knew my death.
But I did not recognise her.
This spring of the ox.

Falling, sisyphus cried for me.
Carrying a few grains
of his soul, back to the world.
His eyes tenderly closed.

Look out world, I thought.
There are no more
breaths of whales.
Just bones and darkness.

And you?
Just one beggar’s bag.
The joy of dewdrops, now vapor.
A sworded woman, in a dream.