The Way of Heaven narrows, squeezing, distant, upward
complexly to an up high, jade-made palace.
I meditate, legs tight on a whitened mountain bollard,
long, through long night’s deep-stretched, empty solace.
Even mountain birds scatter before the palace.
The courtyard desolate. The whole world, dust.
One simple, single thought. Silence. Extinction. No place.
Look backward, only a speck of dust.
Translated by Jennifer Zeng and Damian Robin