Before my eyes, is an aged face,
Hearing a youthful voice, // beside my ear,
Speaking of something outdated, // from his mouth,
This is a dream // that puzzles a child.
A confused dream.
Upon arrival, a soundless cloud drifts by,
Through layers of fine rain // and clamoring night,
Beneath the tree, transformed to shadow still,
Telling children tales // of skies up high to the hill.
"Will I become a // cloud when I am gone?"
The child inquires.

"Yes, indeed you will,
Everyone shall, when their time is drawn."

I watch all unfold within my mind,
Quietly flowing in the river's deep,
As time passes through me, // undefined,
Turning to shadows where tree branches weep.

Until I sit listening below,
Not anyone's child as moments to know,
No interests floating where wild winds blow.
I create distance that puzzles the mind,
Hunting the clouds' young voices left behind.

At last, I leap down,
falling back to the river's embrace.
I become a leaf drifting // from my body,
Offered to fish swimming in nearby waters.
Who knows where tomorrow I'll be
—beneath the tree,
Or in the heavens,
at the cloud's edge,
Or perhaps living within your voice.

In a child's dream,
Through puzzles and stories,
The answer waits.