Year
Sometimes I walk a forgotten path,
Listening to a gurgling brook
And temple chimes, collecting
What I wish I’d preserved.
I left a mark in dirt or maybe
The bark of a nearby tree; it seems
Unfair to trace this stick so long when
Time is slipping through the leaves.
This is my native earth, but its soil
Can hold the seeds of all humanity;
I gaze at branches entwined in trembling
Light and wonder where is mine.