The flickering light of the lantern’s flame
lays lightly upon the lingering stream.
I do not know where the water leads,
but I’ll drink my fill till the aches subside.
The moss grows rampant among the trees
in this mighty forest that eyes have forgot.
And still I sit, watching it grow
until the words in the songs of birds grow clear.
The heartbeat of the soil slowly churns
beneath my bunions and well-traversed heels.
The sky won’t fall, so I have time to wait.
Just like the ferry, tethered to the old dying walnut.