Fingertips

I put my fingertips up in front of my eyes

Let it instantly become a huge mountain

With grandeur, character

And lingering white clouds

I won't use it to cut through the autumn water

That would hurt too much

I only use it to click on the red leaves

With a poem, I trim the scales of sorrow

Turning my ears

Listen to the tide of flowers swirling in the distance

On my forehead, beating a horse past

Oh, far away

There are vast grasslands

There is the hissing of eagles, the scent of sharp flowers

And the huge thunder

I began to hold my tears and cry

Scattering a field of light