Eremite Poems

Mountains, Rivers

For teaching me of unknown paths
For hinting to me of fogs at feet
For reminding me of sunrise tea
For showing me both ink stain and light rain

For simply savoring the simple life

For illustrating the service of the eremite
For singing to paulownia blossoms
For dancing with loneliness
For sculpting sorrow and joy

For nights in caves
For ragged cloths pulled tight against
the biting, bitter frosts
For wondering at tiger tracks 
and losing foods to monkey packs
For hunger days
and thirst nights. 
For solace found in the brethren-free,
high mountain, echoless and grand...Lonely...

For smiling to passing clouds
For bowing to bent bamboo
For conversing with berries
For chorusing with birds

For sitting at the feet of pebbles
For asking deep of puddles
For taking advice of flocks,
both goats and geese.  (And gnats, as well.)
For taking as their audience
the empty Valley
the midnight Sun
the empty bowl
and the passing breeze

I wish to not ever visit
each and every hermit.

Not ever. 
Not ever. 
Forever. 
No, never.