You walk along shoulders…

You walk along shoulders…

You walk along shoulders of bamboo groves,

Starlight treads in your footsteps.

You go forward with shifting seasons,

Summer ghosts are left behind.

You rise as the wind of briefest memory

Pushing shutters gently open.

You arrive, fresh rain at the door ajar,

Softly rustling dry silk.

Your spirit rests in tranquility at table,

Folding itself into a napkin.

You dwell in silence in the deepest part,

Inside there is only silence.

You sleep illumined by the guardian moon,
Windless, the stilling doom.

The Sleeping Gypsy (1897) by Henri Rousseau