Clinging to the Evening Pavilion
With the eye,
With the mouth.
Lightning, flowing clouds, and feather wings
In their swift transit, they hold something called silence.
Silence with the mountains,
Silence with the water.
Fumes and fire hold their lips with spastic forefingers
To keep silent.
Towards the cracking of the sky
And that of the earth that deafen the ears
Silence is maintained.
Silence is Gold.