#70
The river accepts a drop of rain with a ring
Of vanishing consequence, time into time,
Like a memory, a dilution of old yearning.
The river accepts the reflection of trees
With lack of precision, like a slant rhyme,
Like a memory we see but cannot seize.
I know this river. I once stood in this rain.
It told me that insight is not a reflection,
But the tree itself, which can only be known
If we remember it and then see it again.
The river accepts the rain without question,
Like a hand shaking hands with a koan.
The river accepts the trees without seeing.
It's to us to see such beauty here and fleeting.
