In the northern banks of the great river, you’ll collect the whiskers of a great white leopard. He wanders along the banks still, though the jungle has fallen. He has thus surrendered his colours. These eyes will meet yours in 2024. The mystic path shines a blinding hue and no end can be seen while on it. Perish if you would turn away from the endless winding woody pathway along the water, where yesterday I was drowning in the warm and glacial waters. Along the sandbank you will see the same unsteady footsteps as I staggered and stubbed my toes envious of the unclasping of sacred scrolls.
The jade canopy turns to a shadow over the pebble glass, the lingering plastic cobwebs on branches wait for the water creeping. The welts of mosquito bites guard the heavenly fold in the shaking voices of birds. The dew will settle over both still and out-worn hearts where twilight once walked. Between the mangrove roots I found a clear view of the eddies gleaming in the light of the minds eye. Well deserved saline plunge, the flowerbeds the only lantern, stillness the midwife of rebirth on the lofty grass.