Interpretation of the
/ wildfire spring breeze
The wind puffed up white dust
Roaring and soaring into the sky
Into a gray, gray, white sky
The wind let me fill the gray horizon
But I look for a picnic in the mountains
The dust of digestion is others
My smoke is curling in the clear valley
It's like telling the story there
Indifferent to the gesture of swaying the soul
Then shout at the wind
Look, that was me
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