Two Spring I

Rejoice in the beauty possessing your heart and your head. 

The voice, the other, all silence. 

Even with the sudden disappearance of the texts, you partially keep thousands of it’s writings.

The hearts that are called understand why and say enjoy. 

As known as naught, all low things that are gifted are forgotten.

Therefore the credit goes to creating blackness. 

The others harmonize, but only to get their cut.

It takes on meaning and straightaway disappears, vanished.

When the sages of old manifested, you could not see their skin. 

The wild children would stand together even without the beast’s rise: 

there was the fall forever, again. 

Therefore because its head was covered in white paint,

it saw the bottom, and the raven mutated unto ugliness.

If it was revealed that it was snowing, the fall did not last long. 

Ten names measured as no heads high.

Long is that other secret: soon, the blackness, the whiteness, the darkest good.

God is well and heaven is beautiful and none of our colors last.

Those who know, and receive, and despite that arise to teach evil in this despoiled place:

Their sound is of those who did not go and never came back.

Their dye color was a dark kindness not concealed by the sage, with his foolish smoke.

The unknown shadow complimented each and every tree, 

but it was difficult to get a working forest talking.

He has been doing so ever since and will not ever cease. 


(Paraphrased cut up of the Book of Lambspring, figure two, and the Tao Te Ching, chapter two.)

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