You wake up
when my body falls asleep,
you walk to the autumn poplar
and try on its crimson robe,

you take a tiny wild apple
and hang it on your ear lobe,
you put your hand on a flying bird
and pick up trout from the murky pond,

you pat a lion's cub
and fluff up a dragon's eyelid,
as the moon, a handless clock,
bathes feathers of a night hawk,

you go around the purple oak-tree
and it goes around you,
and you both intertwine like a braid
that falls into the ink-stained azure
from the garden's face weeping with dew.