I had to fetch some clouds to decorate the room of clouds. I sought them from the sky.
I climbed the hill and pulled them down.
I took clouds from the pond’s reflection before the fish could come and swallow them.
Before the fish could swallow them, I would steal my clouds away. Thus I gather clouds to decorate a wool gathering room.
In the room of clouds I’ll dream. In a room of white cotton gauze, in a room of soft reflected light, where white on white reveals the floating thought, I muse.
From a pond of reflection I’ll fish for memories. In a room that’s like a bright white page
empty and spacious and bright, I’ll live.