Swans fly overhead singing goodbyeto we walkers of the earth. You pointto them in formation, you tell meyou are not you. You are the air the swanswalk on as they journey like pilgrimsto a temple in the south. A curtainthere separates me from you, swansfrom the air they fly through. I saythat you are no longer the temple,that you have been through fireand are now less than ash. You area mirror of me, the air without a swan.Together, we are each other. Youand I have both nothing and everythingat once. We own the world and nothing in it.