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The Path
- University of Pittsburgh Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
96 the Path at He Nan Temple Wthout my umbrella I forget the ran, welcome each drop to forget me. The stones take more tme to know, ther separate grooves and slopes, dfferent slantng nto the lght, one face for the moon, one face for the clouds. In the wetness I hear honeysuckles tppng over at the edges, a frog jumpng to reach the hgher grass, lost somehow. At the end I put my hand out to touch what you left for me the last tme I came searchng, alone. Wth the umbrella I stumble nto the soltary way water soaks the skn n the thunder, lstenng for the sound of the eagles crclng above the lost pglets of wld boars or whatever can be caught n the talons. My hands are not free, too busy wth tryng to keep the cover on my head. The stones speak another medtaton, a knd of countng to musc. Touch us, they say, and a thousand stone paths wll appear. Once n the nght when t was dry, when the ran stopped ts pretty lspng, wettng the ar, I walked ths path to the dream of where we lve. ...