Issue 5, Spring 1954
Stay where ideas are underground.
The pure essence is a green willow slip,
As a snake slumbering under the mountains,
As a mountain dreamer of the rainy forests.
In the backyard of the world, the lithe children
Toss and scamper under clouds of passion.
They beat upon each other with dry sticks.
Time has not yet made them good and golden.
A jet plane hallucinates the heavens.
The lazy gulls with a composite motion
Go north and sit upon the evening lakes.
The remarkable mountains act in concentration.