John Clark Vincent

Written on the Wall at Chang’s Hermitage

It is Spring in the mountains. I come alone seeking you.
The sound of chopping wood echoes between the silent peaks.
The streams are still icy. There is snow on the trail.
At sunset I reach your grove in the stony mountain pass.
You want nothing, although at night you can see the aura of gold and silver ore all around you.
You have learned to be gentle as the mountain deer you have tamed.
The way back forgotten, hidden away, I become like you, an empty boat, floating, adrift.
Tu Fu, c 712-770