Changes

The thought warms its hands over its own thinking. The frost, because of crickets singing.

The sun becomes the moon As the dream changes.

Another thought enters

Transforms the colors to their proper places

And sweeps the darkness from the mind.

The moon becomes the face

But the dream transforms them to an open field

Shining and wonderful.

The snow begins to fall On the brown hair of summer.

They drink the thought of autumn wine And thought touches thought.