You shine like a mirror reflecting distant fire
And create clouds in observers’ eyes
You gather no dust on your snow-white skin
And enjoy the birds’ caresses while they nest in your toes.
You recline on a green mountain bed, gold in the hot April sun.
We follow five hundred incarnations of you, robed in terracotta.
You guide us through a forest that glows with luminous green.
We ascend the hill until you’ve led us into the
Thin white cloud.
In the distance, your eyelashes touch the sky.
If you listen carefully you may hear the leaves exhale.
They have been holding their breath for centuries.
You have been cut from the finest liquid gold like a rare poisonous spider web, gathered by millions over many millennia.