The gongs and drums

of the mind are in a rhythm,

the moon is light in the blossom,

raindrops descend

like pearls,

sleek clouds ride the wind

into forever,

wet trees flit and fro

like noble beings

to patterened pitter,

the river and me

sit in the blue brush

of the road of sky for flight

for only sacred birds,

the rain falls

lightly 

into

a fine mist,

I see your drunk eyes

lost in the city

I idly sing a song of beauty,

the rain is

my monastery

in the floating of

thoughts,

a glow behind

the screen of dreams

the rain shares

its

journey

from the

farthest

sky.