On Saying Goodbye
Trying to catch up with the hills rolling
beneath my feet I’m lost to your light
then at the mountain’s top you are waiting for me
unmoved by the ruckus and dust below
in this valley I’ll hear a bird, catch my breath
then keep running west til the Star River
laps at my feet–who would not climb mountain
after mountain to keep saying goodbye to you?
The garden is in the recluse, not the other way around.
You rivers and mountains pale against the heights and gorges
She must climb. I am the hand in her mind where thought gets tough.
I am the step suddenly appearing. In the calm harvest fields I know
I have often been missing, off on the mountain’s other side.
But in the slow running river my boat is not far away,
she’ll call a breeze to fetch me faster than words paddle. Here in her
garden, I’ll meet the better me, nodding as I pass on my way to her.