
Rounding up the troops,
marching to the horizon,
dark clouds drown the sun.

Rounding up the troops,
marching to the horizon,
dark clouds drown the sun.

Close-knit rib cages,
guarding treasures of the earth;
unbruised mushroom gills.

Leaning to the side,
putting branches out of line—
a childish pine tree.

We all seek comfort:
human heads towards water;
ocean comes ashore.