For the Guilin Mountains

Stony fingers pierce through soil and lake
Seizing nothing but empty space
The air fogs over their view to heaven
Confirming there is nothing left to seize
There is nothing but this gentle breeze
Tiny figures watch from a distance
Floating upon wooden slats lined with
Noiseless sleek black cormorants
And they wonder if these mountain gods
Will ever be satisfied as they are
To drift upon still waters 
Mere lightyears from paradise