Mountain Boy Leaves the Mountain

Tonight again I see 
The white continent of poetry 
Rising slowly from 
The ox-shaped hill. 

Tonight again I see 
The white figure of a barefoot boy 
Running up 
The ox-shaped hill, 
His clothes torn away 
By the waves of moon light, 
To reach 
The continent of the soul. 

Tonight again I hear 
The deafening white avalanche 
Of poetry 
Destroying the hills, 
The dark hills. 

But tomorrow 
He leaves, the mountain boy, 
Leaves the place they call 
The Poet’s Hill, 
But still remains that barefoot boy 
Still running 
Up the ox-shaped hill.