Slanting Soft White on Mountain Is Never Through

One sheep on one mountain;

So it was somewhere a long while ago.

The white of the sheep

Said something closely to the cloud over the mountain, closely.

There was softness in this part of a mountain range.

The sheep was alone, but didn’t know it at all.

What kind of sheep it was, the cloud didn’t say.

There is so much aloneness that is not known.

Someone is the cloud,

Someone is the mountain,

And the undescribed sheep in slow, ancient white.

Tabriz, Kashgir, Monomana are names which are present now.

Sheep, slightly diagonal, on this mountain

In say, Asian whiteness,

Says something to pistons, teeth meeting teeth, pounding on table.

You have something to say lengthily

And to many things.

White is never through.

Four feet are never through.

Slanting soft white on mountain is never through.