I marked the moments of being lost
and being lost was a longing
a song
left on my lips traces of rind
as one hears train sounds
but no train
I marked the moments of the song
by being lost
my compass
as if, before entering a lake
I took the clothes off my clothes
marked the moments on trees
I followed until I couldn’t see
not even rabbits,
not even loss,
there was no trail,
only longing and a song
I marked the moments
being lost was my
song
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2 comments:
Most excellent, mon amour.
There are wonderful lines flashing through this poem. It is one to enjoy, and to read over and over. Best of all will be to here you read it aloud.
Acarasiddhi
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