when it coagulates it becomes mountains."
Sun Ch'o
Staring at my brushes
the inkstick turns to thick black blood
from burned dead pine trees.
Broken clouds of smoke
like mountain tops
sadden my heart.
Shrinking forests,
shrinking life:
human waste.
Feathers on the wind,
empty mountains:
human sounds echo.
Rain of blood.
We, mercenaries, forget our knowledge of nature,
but endure.
Modern cities:
anonimous walking shadows,
brush strokes of blood.
You are not my friends,
I am not yours.
Mountains and rivers,
the horizon,
the call of the wilderness,
a reminder
to save us from attachments.
Obey your heart,
brighter than the stars of the sky.
"The space goes on.
But the wet black brush
tip down to a point,
lifts away." Gary Snyder
After reading The Great Clod, Notes and Memoirs on Nature and History in East Asia by Gary Snyder
@jlregojo #RegEye
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