头顶,传采天空行走的声音。无边草地,裹在一朵鸟鸣里。牦牛的黑移过帐篷。一滴。一点。一群。一片。谁在自己哼唱的歌谣里纵马、豪饮、放牧?原来,所有的花朵都叫格桑。时间倘若熟透,便泛波浪。雪山的高度,是诗歌的海拔。灵魂只有一个故乡,叫远方。孤独是辽阔的敌人。我耻于曾经赊一轮南方明月,为无中生有的孤独——上釉。走出红尘,人在高原。双瞳瞩望神界的过客,心,始终紧贴大地飞。 Head, pass the sky mining mining voice. Boundless grass, wrapped in a bird’s song. Yak black moved over the tent. A drop a little. group. one slice. Who in their singing songs in the vertical horse, booze, grazing? It turned out that all the flowers are called Gesang. If the time is ripe, it pan-wave. The height of snow-capped mountains is the elevation of poetry. Only a hometown soul, called the distance. Loneliness is a vast enemy. I was ashamed of having been on a southern moonlight moonlight for the lonely lifeless - glazed. Out of the Red, people in the plateau. Double pupil looking forward to the world of passing, heart, always close to the earth fly.