July 17^th, 2024

Perfumed springs ripple over skeletal outcrops
In the distance a hint of smoke, rising
I hear perpetual stillness in these hills
Sense the rush of swirling waters
White plum blossoms blanket a dozen miles
Save for this single, tiny hut
Tigers, half-tame, loiter near my door
Chattering monkeys guard my gate
A wild mountain-man, white hair streaming
Tops the slate summit on a bamboo staff
Caught unawares, I laugh at the distant bell
Follow the twist and turn of an ancient stream.
Zen-hearted, washed free of all desire
Never again will I wander the noisy dust.