Monster Valley

Here,

Imagination is the skeleton,

And the wind can also take shape.

 

With half-closed eyes,

The master of the valley

Rides a weasel made of snowflakes,

Climbing through the clouds,

Using a freshly picked star

To catch the life that fell here.

 

The obsession in the abyss,

Ashes flying away like smoke,

The accumulated snow

Thus disperses