Let the Eastern Peaks rise;
Who can grow majestic trampled under countless boots?
Blow westward with the wind on golden paths of sifted sand,
The powdered remains of yellow bricks left forever unattended.
Pay no heed to the buzzing of your tiny guides,
Winged Sherpas made visible in numbers;
They will attend your every move.
Let them bite;
The toll for rich rosemary perfume.
Echo off stone painted in pale green fractals
The vigil of the red-headed watchmaker.
Tock! Tock! Tock! Tock!
Time is alien to you;
Night’s marbled sky arrives heedless of your expectations.
See now what you’ve gained
In the blackness, nothingness, eyelessness.
Rest here. Stay awhile. Take root.
The vigilant pines will watch over you,
your guardians, your brothers.