In the middle of the ravine lies a lacklustre inspector fluctuating with misery around
The unattainable finer things in life.
She extends her capacities for perception
To the ambiguous cloud accepting with certainty
That there is no need for attachment: lingering in an insatiably restless dichotomy.
The cloud is visible only,
No other sense detects it; so she holds her gaze strong and unrelenting.
What will she do next?
Perhaps she will follow the logic and see the cosmos;
Or maybe she'll hear a tree fall, shut her eyes, and laugh.
