To the dreamless valley where the rain stops like dead rain drops,
I have killed myself so many times.
To be found by the white raven.
The ecstasy.
Do we get empty by giving or overwhelmed by the selfless wonder?
The faraway roar,
the belittle interruption.
The lifeless body is eternal in the erosive memory.
The raven and the white wings over the horizon,
the monochrome and the rainbow.
Something’s coming through the grey metaphor,
a smiling vacation from the senses.
Don’t go away finding the fire, the warmth and the shelter,
the cold womb of the daring pines holds the friction within.
Come back,
come back to the solitude of the bones.

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Photograph: MYNNSAN