In the heat of the afternoon,
I sat in silence on the shore
and listened to the lapping
waves come rapping at my door.

You said soon you'd be along,
surely nothing more than a day
but now the afternoon is sinking
and the dragonflies come out to say
"What keeps you distant dreaming?
Son, you should head out on your way."
Into a bowl I place the herbs
I've gathered on the hike:
mugwort, sage, peppermint,
and pine needles with their pollen.
I fill two cups, with some left over.
One for you, should you come along.
The second for the travelers,
with no other place to belong.
The rest I give back to the waters,
offered to the sprites and sylphs.

The valley'd lake is getting dark
and the sun hides behind the peaks.
I'm skipping stones across the waters,
watching ripples flux and cease.
And the moon casts gentle radiance,
a silken envelope of thought.
She guides my mind to contemplate
what is really going on:

I hope that you've been stalled
by a love more bold than me.
I hope it takes your hand and
shows you what I could never see.

If you're sitting home alone,
afraid of what may not ever be.
Imagine someone strumming slow
to your whirling symphony.