He climbed the moon to the sun.
He paid to see the fire bloom.
In the sun’s halls of white light,
Paired white jade trees stood in rows
That weren’t jade or trees at all
But whips pulled the way heat flowed.
Gods played the way winds taught them
And roamed the heart of the star.
Red cranes spread their wings for home
And raked clawed feet past clawed peaks.
All there was left all that was
Known for what could not be known.
To the East, what more is there?
What more is there, to the West?