We're the cloud people
Getting by on less
Sleeping under thatch
Not talking much
Writing so much less
A few poems perhaps

We let go of the world
Working the higher slopes
Out of touch with the times
But not the seasons
Having none of your doubts
And none of your reasons

And it comes down to this:
We traded flatland dust
For mountain mist
To be distant
Insignificant

And you know we're there
Beyond your city walls
Where you see lone columns of smoke
After the snowfalls

Don't think we've been pushed
From their hearts and minds
Though sage kings are gone
And left deserted shrines

We live on unseen
In the mountain fires

Try not to be alike
With your beads so new
Crowded mountains won't do

And though your tongues are full
And there are words to speak
None of them are real
None of them will heal

Ten thousand things
All in this breath
Grasping hold of emptiness
Grasping hold of emptiness