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Half moon hung up in the sky
Wreathed with clouds like Nine Chinese Dragons,
Illuminating a path before me,
Shadows shifting on canyon walls.
Of the times I've been here,
I've never noticed that.
I walk along, shadows shift
From a Skull to Sphinx to King.
Not an in-breathing suspension
But an absence of breath entirely.
The monks are simple, spiritual.
The place is terrible, sacred -
Haunted by god's presence
More than any I have ever known.
Yet, I was born in this beautiful tomb.