The stone-faced mountains
watch my melting form
become a hundred flowers.
Outstretched on the furrowed ground
My bones breathe
with the ancient rock.
Singing to under-water trees,
floating rocks and mirrored clouds.
The six healing sounds.
A solitary pine
guides the form,
extending its shimmering reflection.
Still dark
The earth receives
every dancing leaf.
The sound
of their wings
follow my hand.
Wind above
Roots below
I begin.
