The stones are warm,
and the steam's drifting out
I bathe the skin on this body
The morning sun is splendor, unblemished
but such sadness it brings in its wake

So may the mind of all motion
twitch once more on this quiet plain
Or may it pass me loving
to my kind who just would not see

The night was cold, and clear as a knife
I took a hold, and I cut
My table is set with misshapen candles
and what meager food I've snatched from this earth
And if it so transpires
that all my effort is in vain
it is all still a miraculous thing
to live and witness each day

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