Way up the wind has carved
The delicate skeleton of a fish
The gods have eaten and thrown down
Earlier I watched an emerald cloud
Through which a sun was drifting
Only visible when I closed my eyes
A whole city of perceptions
Gathered in the naked tree
Of course I was only seeing things
The gods fishing for a compliment
The clouds baked like loaves
The mountain becoming transparent
And all of us just resting here
Waiting to be fed
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