Classic Poem

1

I don't feel like reading another book,
and I'm tired of poetry — that's not what I want to do.
But my mind is restless, unsettled —
I'll try counting raindrop stains on the oilcloth window.

2

I finish chanting my new poems and fall asleep —
I am a butterfly journeying to the eight corners of the universe.
Outside the boat, waves crash like thunder,
but it is silent in the world of sleep.