It's not mere turning off
but keeping the genius of eyes closed
from the attack of sight bent on the ground.
Eyes touch severely the edge of deadly blood.
Binding the Nature, it observes the depth both of
women and rivers;
absorbs all the contexts of fishes, birds, animals
and insects ;
penetrating all the correlative theories, brings out
strong witness.

Not within my brain, actually my adolescence is
sitting within my eyes
as if it were a tired green boy having a big bow at
his hand.

Yet in the boundary of my eye-sight,
I see my son dressing his hair in front of a whirling mirror.
Who knows whether it's myself or not?
Perhaps it's I who am parting the hair and setting it on the palate.
I have worn socks and rubbing the buttons of sleeve
brushed the shirt. Perhaps the steady glasskid
would uproot his father's age from the forty year.