In the footsteps of the walking air
Sky's prophetic chickens weave their cloth of awe
And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying.
Night in his soft haste bumps on the shoulders of the abyss
And a single drop of dark blood covers the earth.
Now is the China of the spirit at walking
In my reaches.
A sable organ sounds in my gathered will
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem