If it blurs your eyes, if it enters your dreams.

If you ever cry in it, the one in your heart might hear it.

If it has been over forty-nine days, gone far too long,

          you have lost the mandate of heaven.

If the frogs thunder and croak, the hungry dead afoot.
If you sing in it, your own spittle turned green.

If you scream with it, your eye a-gleaming.

If you kiss it, a demon who weeps.

If you wed in it, you make a home in the eye of the gyre.

If you dance with it, ogres to cripple your knees.

If you worry over it, an angel who means well and leads you astray.

If an elbow ever soaks in it, a spell of good fortune.
If it catches you by both arms, it cannot be helped. Carry on.

If it brushes you on the shoulder, tarry no more, you must hurry.

If you have asked too many times, up to you to ask once more.

If it catches you, disappointment awaits at the end of the road.

          Turn back or meander.

If suddenly a land newly-found, you might have foundered on your luck.
If your head steeps in it, your body in knots, wracked with fever.

If your head steeps in it, chase it with water.

If a dog comes up, make two wishes if it walks with you.

          One of them forfeited if it howls or barks. Choose which one.

If it carries on the next day, it carries on.

If it falls over the hills, monitor the rivers.

If it has fallen in your sleep, it falls.

If clouds fly out before it, keep close watch on the coasts and the stars.
If you look out to it beseeching, prepare to be faced with vast silence.

If you look out to it in silence, it returns to you wordless looking.

If you have drank too deep of it, treachery begins in the pit of your gut.

If you wade through it, it grows in your feet.

If you walk slowly with it, and so it goes.
If you walk with it, may it yet go well.

If you speak to the voice on the mountain, it will follow you home.