How long since then when the sun set

keeps me warm; when  palms vanishing

off the beach?

Now winter again; now years again.

I walk into woods as I walk into a fairy book.

The deep road leads up to white clouds, and

clouds like horses running on prairie. Under a tree,

I rest my heart.

Cannot remember what time is now.

The road takes me to mystery.

Sometimes I am cold and hungry; sometimes

I see a beautiful deer running by.

Cannot tell if I am sad or happy.

All is not important: except life and death,

nothing really matters.

Above my head, there’s still time.

Under my feet, there’s still a pass.

Nov 29, 2013