I find, I can't get you out of my mind.
Forgotten memories persist, no rest,
indeed, for the wicked. I am to blame,
no peace for the weary, my mind sublime,
despite the obstacles, the blockages.
I sit alone on this Great Sublime Peak,
Climb Mount Hyakujō. I am a goat.
Answers don't come easy. Is this a test?
No one explains kindness, its strength, my shame.
Today I eat thistles beside a moat.
Granted access, this life comes in stages.
Enter a field mouse crushed by an owl's beak.
This one chance to cross the threshold, too weak.
You helped like a backhanded compliment,
oblique angles, we met at the tangent,
under duress, you obliged in duty.
Obey power to get ahead, no dissent
under orders, kindness was not your way,
to brush aside the past and push ahead.
Observe the external world does not care
for what's inside may not cause you torment.
My experience matters not, beauty
yellows my fingertips, habits we share.
Monuments built for goats who climb and stray
in mountains and valleys, lick salt, the dead
no longer flexible, limber, agile
determined to survive by craft or guile.
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