Where do these balls come from
floating on the water ghostly
Crops are kept in the iron pot
and I’m looking for ten savage fingers,
the sleep sent in exile
dreams grassing in the barren field
…along with the friendly goats
I smell black earth from the edge of the nails  
I don’t walk wearing shoes
see the hair! … there nestled
a flock of wild parrots

Bubbles on the water…
The balls floating
I’ve confined the breath-wind
in trivial them
And I’m telling you
I don’t walk wearing shoes