A MOUNTAIN SPRING
There is a brook in the mountains,
Nobody I ask knows its name.
It shines on the earth like a piece
Of the sky. It falls away
In waterfalls, with a sound
Like rain. It twists between rocks
And makes deep pools. It divides
Into islands. It goes its way
With no one to mind it. The years
Go by, its clear depths never change.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Outside, I find the dark center of the night, and breathe it in. The nearest cricket chirps slowly. I count six chirps as I inhale. I count six more as I exhale. All the scattered distant suns glitter. Their light is all the light I need. The cricket's rhythmic chirp displaces all thought of clocks, and time opens like a book, like a flower, like a waking sleeper's eyes.
