Moon stepped gingerly on clouds.
Apples were painless...

Unimpeachable,
the shrine wants to move on...

Motionless within the ambit
of moon...

Like a snowfox
it stampedes...

Bending the forked-stick to find
underground water...

The absent moon
in a tea cup...

Can you see the smoke
coming from...

The most wanted moon
was writhing...

I was a non-believer in exodus
of nothingness...

I tossed back the hot questions
before searching the answer...

I did not will them
dreams of crystals...

Visibility was poor when he pursued
the face, face of himself...