On Cold Mountain, there’s just
white clouds,
noiseless, still, detached from dust.
My mountain retreat is a seat of
grass.
The arc of the moon is my only
lamp.
My stone bed overlooks a jade pond.
Tigers and deer make my only
neighbors.
I prefer the joys of this hidden
home
where living is always outside of
form.
287-red
pine; 290-henricks; 141-tanahashi; rouzer-292
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