A million arrows are aimed at the sky,
yet the sun still not shot down.
Glancing back,
their golden faces are soaked with tears.
Mourning grasses
grow wild upon my eyes,
burn flames in the wind.
Those duckweeds and swimming fish,
those floating clouds and breezes
are far behind.
In turning, I lose my way
and feel the lotus core in pieces.
With arrows sifting through my hand,
I see sunset in crimson.