What is that,
that's concealed in my breath
that's the canvas of this painting
that's the rain of silence

Strange is that
that's like a waking dream
that's when the space is alive

So gentle is that
that I cannot breath it in
that I cannot perceive it as a memory
that doesn't exist if I know of it and bother

Such is this rain
that doesn't touch me
although I drown in it

Such delicate is this balance
which doesn't exist
if I try

Is it that which
My master is talking about
Such simplicity
Such love