I have strolled here for a thousand years.
Moving beside these blue mountains like a shadow in hiding,
moving in the darkness to escape my own face.
The mirror is frightening, each glimpse becomes a new horror
of hollowed eyes and flaming hair.
I escape myself at each turn,
and each lifetime piles upon the next.
Piles and stacks, mostly of red and yellow,
but faint sparks of blue shine from the furthest star.
Un-countable, like the bodies of battle,
but these have suffered from sleep.
With each new birth, my image becomes an ingenious disguise.
Like all the others I buried,
the enormity of Darkness always seems to settle upon my skin.
Each pore moves softly to accept the dew,
like a whore with a thousand open mouths, we drink.
We drink the waterfalls that pour from us.
From engraved goblets, the dragons toast their assent,
they curse my fall.
They await my rising.
Laugh at my death.
Dance at my birth.