有人部落

Iban’s Wein
Those flowing stories
Turned, vanishing, into the hidden dark side
Mountains, forests,
We before the tomb facing the desert of death
Like butterflies
Flying opposite the wind
Signing a dark future


And the memories
Turned dim
Erasing more or less
Something
Slowly, gathered together and become static
Becoming the up-flowing-sinking ice-cubes, take care of
Bubbling poesis
A pair of transparent wings
Writing and tracing nothingness
Remember tight
Broken lines, flooded texts,
Totem weeping linking the rains
Float, the dreamland full of flowing ants
White ray drunken
The person’s fibre

Someday the sun will shine
Return, the mountain smells fragrance
Cheers and erect the branches
Cacoons resting. Windy…
In the dream it is a season of taking off.