Analysis of Dice

Life and death hang upside down. The rustling dice pressed the sound of knife,
ups and downs on the water. Wrist, shaking, ripples
Passes on suffering and happiness.
Questions everywhere, a few red beans inlaid with autumn.
White clouds become a metaphor.

There is no comfort under the dead branches of the signature.
The knife, fllowing behind, is waiting for the dice to explain.