From right to left   
 the eye wiper   
 separates the visible from the invisible   
 under the thrill of the sky.  
    
 Chubby clouds punctuate   
 of their fat smiles   
 the thought of the bells   
 that the echo pierces.    
  
 Riding turbaned   
 lake scents   
 true chance   
 of our origin.  

    
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