Absorbing sky,
you catch my eyes to pull me from all that is here,
a rapture of smoothness and silence,
What is here amid soundless motions,
where my body holds no sway,
Drawing deep to spin the wool,
the rough fetters of my mind,
What will you weave there,
in the hush of the sky,

Cerulean pool,
to you I fall from verdant, bladed beds
Rippled, concentric blossoms all around
- a downward tide.
Crips, cool sky,
releasing me that way
to lay once more in seclusion.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Letum, in the year 504 AD.