When you wake up, the sun will smile,
Leaving the mackerel hopping for air across the dew wet grass.
And if you save it the snake will vanish behind the cherry flowers,
When you open your eyes and chase through the trees,
In the fields,
Beyond this lake,
Beyond that ocean,
You’ll hear the sound,
So preciously lonely,
Sweetness and blood,
It will be found on the morning map,
If not jinxed by the sand
Or buried by the clam
Where the crab shields the gates,
There the walls are built high.
And as you dig down for many miles,
You will find,
You will find where the currents have carried it,
You will nurse it back again,
Erasing everything,
Restoring
Nurturing
Until then, it has fallen.
Cautiously met by the darkness cloaked in blue,
Limbo is she,
Nirvana is not.
The mackerel is flopping to its death.
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