Here’s a poem inspired by my recent trip to Japan, walking the trails that pilgrims had walked for over a thousand years, amid vast and ancient woodlands where the cacophony of modern life gives way to the primal sounds of nature.
THE OTHER WAY
So many lionize the bright and
ravishing, as though
the ochre of fall is only
half as bright as the yellow
of summer, or petals and thorns
are not a single thing.
I want to walk this path again,
to school myself in another way,
make room for things
the quick eyes avert,
root for thistles growing
unnoticed, for lopsided blossoms
that flower and fade, and
tiny toads sheltering between
blades of grass, for the soft
drumbeat of the rain falling
on streams that are content
to be streams, for rivers
that never wind to the sea.
I want the earth to know
that when I speak to stones,
I can hear them sing like bells.
