Menu
Share
Share this story
Close X
 
Switch to Desktop Site

Parable

Ten thousand holy mountains prop the sky, Endlessly turquoise. Safe beneath them lie

Small villages, all mulberries and blue smoke.

About these ads

Unsummoned, sleeping, how should the ferryman know

How his boat would shine, deep-gunnels under snow,

When, noon long washed down-river, he awoke?