Chapter 47 window on the cliff

window on the cliff Hornets urge flowers to open in dangerous poses letter sent, day of the year A damp match no longer lights me up The wolves pass through the people who have turned into trees The snowdrift suddenly melted, and on the dial winter's silence It's not pure water that cuts through rock Cooking smoke cut by a sharp ax stay upright in the air Sunny tiger stripes slide off the wall Stones grow, dreams have no direction life scattered in the grass Looking upwards for words, stars burst, the rutted river Rush countless rusty shrapnel towards the city Out of the gutter sprang ferocious bushes

In the market, women rush to buy spring